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FRANCIS  PARKMAN.  i6mo,  $1.10  net. 
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FEANCIS  PARKMAN 


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FRANCIS    PARKMAN 


BY 


HENRY  DWIGHT  SEDGWICK 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND  COMPANY 

ibe  prc.stf, 
1904 


COPYRIGHT   1904  BY  HENRY  DWIGHT  SKDGWICK 
ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  May,  iqcy. 


TO 

S.  M.  S. 

Qual  vuol  gentil  donna  parere, 
Vada  con  lei. 


213367 


£*. 


PKEFACE 

THE  life  of  a  scholar  is  almost  of  necessity  un 
eventful,  and  his  accomplished  work  speaks  for 
itself;  therefore  the  biographer  must  deal  in 
the  main  with  the  scholar's  labors  of  acquisition 
and  preparation.  Journals  kept  on  two  summer 
vacations,  and  on  a  trip  to  Europe,  and  several 
erratic  and  scrappy  notebooks,  show  Parkman's 
methods  of  examining  historic  places  and  of  col 
lecting  historical  materials.  These,  together  with 
the  "  Oregon  Trail,"  his  own  brief  narrative  of 
his  life,  and  an  irregular  correspondence,  consti 
tute  the  autobiographical  records  of  his  life. 

My  thanks  are  due  to  Miss  Parkman,  the  his 
torian's  sister,  for  putting  those  records  at  my 
disposal ;  to  Mr.  Charles  Haight  Farnham,  the 
author  of  the  "  Life  of  Francis  Parkman,"  for 
his  generous  permission  to  make  what  use  I 
might  wish  of  his  biography  —  and  but  for  his 
labors  my  own  would  have  been  fourfold  greater; 
to  Messrs.  Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  for  their  per- 


viii  PREFACE 

mission  to  quote  from  that  "  Life "  and  from 
Parkman's  published  works;  to  the  late  Abb6 
H.  R.  Casgrain,  for  leave  to  use  his  unpublished 
"  Correspondence  for  twenty-eight  years  with 
Mr.  Parkman  ; "  to  The  Westborough  Histor 
ical  Society,  for  leave  to  make  extracts  from 
the  "  Diary  of  Rev.  Ebenezer  Parkman,"  and  to 
those  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  have  kindly 
allowed  me  to  print  letters  written  to  Parkman. 
I  am  also  indebted  to  the  monographs  of  Mr. 
Edward  Wheelwright,  the  Rev.  O.  B.  Frothing- 
ham,  Mr.  John  Fiske,  and  Mr.  Barrett  Wendell. 

H.  D.  SEDGWICK. 

NEW  YOBK,  April,  1904. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEB  PAGB 

I.  ACHIEVEMENT 1 

II.  ANCESTRY 12 

III.  BOYHOOD 20 

IV.  COLLEGE 27 

V.  EXPLORATIONS 32 

VI.  THE  MARGALLOWAY 45 

VII.  TRAVELS 56 

VIII.  EUROPE 69 

IX.  IN  SICILY  l 80 

X.  NAPLES  AND  ROME 90 

XI.  FROM  FLORENCE  TO  EDINBURGH      .        .        .105 
XII.  A  MAKE-BELIEVE  LAW  STUDENT         .        .      116 

XIII.  PREPARATION  FOR  PONTIAC      .        .        •        -133 

XIV.  OFF  ON  THE  OREGON  TRAIL         ...      148 
XV.  THE  OGILLALLAH 160 

XVI.  A  ROUGH  JOURNEY  .    ,        .        .        .        .168 
XVII.  LIFE  IN  AN  INDIAN  VILLAGE 
iXVTII.  UNDER  DR.  ELLIOTT'S  CARE 

XTX.  ILL  HEALTH,  1848-1850 205 

XX.  LIFE  AND  LITERATURE,  1850-1856        .        •      217 

XXI.  1858-1865 229 

XXII.  HISTORY  AND  FAME 246 


X  CONTENTS 

XXIII.  CANADA  AND  CANADIAN  FKIENDS    .        .        .  263 

XXIV.  LATER  LIFE 282 

XXV.  CHARACTER  AND  OPINIONS        .  .        .  304 

XXVI.  A  MORE  INTIMATE  CHAPTER         .        .        .316 

APPENDIX 

AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL  LETTER  OF  1886          .        .        .      327 
POEM  BY  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES     ....  339 

INDEX  341 


FRANCIS  PARKMAN 


FRANCIS  PARKMAN 


CHAPTER  I 

ACHIEVEMENT 

THERE  is  a  fine  passage  in  Bunyan  which  de 
scribes  the  fighting  courage  of  the  Puritan 
type :  - 

Then  said  Great-heart  to  Mr.  Valiant-for- 
Truth,  "  Thou  hast  worthily  behaved  thyself ;  let 
me  see  thy  sword."  So  he  showed  it  to  him. 

When  he  had  taken  it  in  his  hand,  and 
looked  thereon  a  while,  he  said,  "  Ha !  it  is  a 
right  Jerusalem  blade." 

Valiant.  It  is  so.  Let  a  man  have  one  of 
these  blades,  with  a  hand  to  wield  it  and  skill  to 
use  it,  and  he  may  venture  upon  an  angel  with 
it.  He  need  not  fear  its  holding,  if  he  can  but 
tell  how  to  lay  on.  Its  edge  will  never  blunt. 

Great-heart.  But  you  fought  a  great  while. 
I  wonder  you  was  not  weary. 

Valiant.  I  fought  till  my  sword  did  cleave 
to  my  hand  ;  and  then  they  were  joined  together 
as  if  a  sword  grew  out  of  my  arm,  and  when  the 
blood  ran  through  my  fingers,  then  I  fought  with 
most  courage. 


2  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

Great-heart.    Thou  hast  done  well.  .  .    . 

Mr.  Great-heart  was  delighted  in  him  (for  he 
loved  one  greatly  that  he  found  to  be  a  man  of 
his  hands). 

Parkman  was  such  another  Valiant-for-Truth, 
and  with  the  right  Jerusalem  blade  of  character 
fought  his  victorious  way.  Silent  in  pain,  patient 
in  accomplishment,  modest  in  victory,  gentle  in 
bearing,  and  yet  determined  to  grimness,  he 
proved  himself  lawful  heir  of  the  best  Puritan 
traits.  The  name  Puritan  he  disliked,  but  how 
ever  much  he  might  wish  he  could  not  escape 
his  moral  ancestry.  He  inherited  not  the  acci 
dental  beliefs  of  the  Puritans,  but  their  attitude 
toward  life,  their  disposition  and  inherent  bent. 
"  Not  happiness  but  achievement  "  was  his  watch 
word.  Cut  off  by  race  and  temperament  from 
those  light,  sunny,  skeptical,  feminine  moods 
that  belong  to  other  bloods,  his  nature  was  con 
centrated  in  the  pith  of  his  race.  With  head 
erect,  jaw  fixed,  shoulders  square,  he  was  the 
image  of  New  England's  best.  He  had  New 
England's  difficulty  of  self-expression,  he  was 
not  without  traces  of  her  inflexibility  of  mind, 
and  he  was  endowed,  more  than  the  measure  of 
his  race,  with  a  proud,  shy  tenderness. 

Nature  would  have  made  a  soldier  of  him,  but 
in  Fortune's  hugger-mugger  allotment  of  parts, 
it  fell  to  him  to  grasp  the  pen  instead  of  the 


ACHIEVEMENT  3 

sword ;  his  name  is  not  written  upon  fort  and 
battlefield,  but  it  is  inseparably  united  with  the 
story  of  the  first  great  epoch  in  the  history  of 
North  America. 

In  the  field  of  history  Parkman's  name  stands 
as  high,  perhaps  higher,  than  that  of  any  other 
American.  John  Fiske,  a  student  of  the  histo 
rians  of  Europe  and  America,  says :  "  Into  the 
making  of  a  historian  there  should  enter  some 
thing  of  the  philosopher,  something  of  the  natu 
ralist,  something  of  the  poet.  In  Parkman  this 
rare  union  of  qualities  was  realized  in  a  greater 
degree  than  in  any  other  American  historian. 
Indeed,  I  doubt  if  the  nineteenth  century. can 
show  in  any  part  of  the  world  another  historian 
quite  his  equal  in  respect  to  such  a  union.  .  .  . 
It  is  only  the  historian  who  is  also  philosopher 
and  artist  that  can  thus  deal  in  block  with  the 
great  and  complex  life  of  a  whole  society.  The 
requisite  combination  is  realized  only  in  certain 
rare  and  high  types  of  mind,  and  there  has  been 
no  more  brilliant  illustration  of  it  than  Park 
man's  volumes  afford."  And  he  adds,  speaking 
of  Parkman's  whole  history :  "  Strong  in  its 
individuality,  like  to  nothing  else,  it  clearly 
belongs,  I  think,  among  the  world's  few  master 
pieces  of  the  highest  rank,  along  with  the  works 
of  Herodotus,  Thucydides,  and  Gibbon." 

A  writer  in  the  "  Spectator,"  reviewing  an  Eng- 


4  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

lish  edition  of  Parkman's  works,  says:  "Fran 
cis  Parkman  long  since  won  an  honorable  place 
among  the  classic  historians  of  the  world,  and  it 
is  with  the  greatest  cordiality  that  we  welcome 
the  present  reprint  of  his  works.  Now,  at  last, 
we  have  a  library  edition  which  we  may  put  by 
the  side  of  Gibbon  and  Michelet,  of  Livy  and 
Taine.  For  Francis  Parkman  need  not  fear  the 
most  august  society ;  he  has  the  true  genius  of 
history  in  him,  —  the  genius  which  knows  how 
to  wed  accuracy  with  romance."  Goldwin  Smith 
compares  him  with  Tacitus.  Professor  Albert 
Bushnell  Hart  says :  "  Francis  Parkman  is  the 
greatest  of  all  the  writers  who  have  ever  made 
America  their  theme  or  have  written  as  American 
scholars,  and  his  greatness  depends  upon  three 
qualities  rarely  brought  together  in  one  man ; 
he  was  a  matchless  investigator,  a  man  of  the 
most  unflinching  tenacity,  and  somehow  he  knew 
how  to  write  so  that  men  loved  to  read  him." 

These  are  enthusiastic  praises,  and  Mr.  Fiske, 
who  had  a  warm  heart  and  a  fine  capacity  for 
friendship,  might  be  thought  to  have  spoken 
from  a  May  morning  mood,  the  English  reviewer 
might  be  deemed  over-grateful  to  Parkman  after 
reviewing  other  historians,  Goldwin  Smith  en 
thusiastic  from  love  of  Canada,  Professor  Hart 
from  love  of  Harvard  ;  but  such  conjectures  fail, 
for  these  men  make  but  the  mouthpiece  of  the 


ACHIEVEMENT  5 

common  voice.  The  boy  who  in  the  course  of 
nature  reads  Parkman  after  Cooper  and  the  Wa- 
verley  novels  finishes  "Pontiac"  or  "Montcalm 
and  Wolfe"  with  a  "By  Jove,  that's  bully!" 
The  temperate  person  of  uncertain  age  says, 
"  What  an  admirable  piece  of  work  I  how  true, 
how  just!  would  that  our  fiction  had  half  the 
charm  of  such  history !  "  The  student  rejoices  in 
the  accuracy,  the  impartiality,  the  wise  correct 
ness  of  this  history. 

It  is  for  scholars,  however,  to  decide  whether 
Parkman  is  as  great  as  Thucydides  and  Gibbon  ; 
the  very  suggestion  is  more  than  enough  honor 
for  any  other  historian  ;  it  is  for  readers  to  de 
termine  if  his  books  are  as  agreeable  as  Michelet 
or  Livy ;  the  biographer  can  but  show  whether 
the  historian  has  been  loyal  to  his  task,  — 
whether  he  has  studied,  explored,  reconnoitred 
in  all  those  places  where  he  might  ferret  out 
knowledge  of  his  subject;  for  in  such  loyalty 
lies  not  only  the  historian's  honor,  but  also  what 
benefit  men  may  derive  from  history. 

In  considering  the  merits  of  a  historian,  heed 
must  be  paid  to  the  subject  of  the  history,  the 
theme  must  be  looked  at ;  a  little  man  minces 
up  to  a  little  subject,  a  strong  man  strides  up 
to  a  great  subject.  No  story  of  Martha's  Vine 
yard,  of  Dorking,  or  Tarascon  could  deserve  the 
title  of  a  great  history.  Parkman  chose  worthily, 


6  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

sagaciously  seeing  clearly  where  other  men  had 
only  peered.  His  subject  is  universally  acknow 
ledged  to  be  a  great  subject.  It  is  the  history  of 
Canada,  it  is  the  history  of  the  United  States  as 
well.  The  events  which  he  recounts  are  the  great 
prologue  to  the  drama  of  the  American  Revo 
lution  ;  they  are  the  slow  factors  which  begot 
sentiments  of  mutual  dependence  among  bicker 
ing  colonies,  and  finally,  forcing  them  to  confed 
erate,  enabled  them  to  break  the  ties  that  held 
them  to  Great  Britain  and  to  found  a  new  nation. 
Incidentally,  as  a  story  of  two  nations  of  differ 
ent  stocks,  Parkman's  history  involves  the  con 
trast  between  two  political  systems,  —  one  where 
a  single  man  holds  the  power  of  the  state,  the 
other  where  the  general  body  of  citizens  possess 
it ;  likewise  it  involves  the  contrast  between  two 
great  religious  systems,  Roman  Catholicism  and 
Teutonic  Protestantism.  The  English-French  con 
flict  was  the  struggle  between  two  sets  of  ideas 
—  one  derived  from  Rome,  the  other  from  Ger 
many  — for  domination  on  the  continent  of  North 
America.  In  Europe  those  discordant  ideas  had 
set  up  their  respective  boundaries ;  in  the  New 
World  they  fought  not  for  boundaries,  but  for 
all  or  nothing.  The  importance  of  this  struggle 
Parkman  was  perhaps  the  first  fully  to  realize. 
So  great  a  theme  imposed  a  grave  duty. 

Parkman's  self -training  and  self-education,  in 


ACHIEVEMENT  7 

order  to  fulfill  this  duty,  make  the  most  interest 
ing  part  of  his  life.  To  be  sure,  as  a  historian 
of  past  time,  he  had  in  some  respects  unrivaled 
opportunities.  When  Froude  described  Eliza 
bethan  buccaneers  and  Freeman  the  Normans  of 
the  Conquest,  they  were  constrained  to  use  that 
constructive  sense  which  out  of  manuscripts, 
stones,  and  bones  must  create  living  men ;  but 
Parkman  was  able  to  live  in  the  past,  as  it  were, 
to  use  eyes  and  ears  instead  of  his  imagination. 
Indians,  French  Canadians,  and  American  fron 
tiersmen  are  his  dramatis  personce.  Fortunately 
for  him,  Indians  are  singularly  persistent  in  an 
cestral  ways,  singularly  incapable  of  adaptation 
to  altered  modes  of  life.  What  the  Iroquois  and 
the  Algonkins  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries  were,  such  were  the  Snakes  and  the 
Dakotas  of  1846.  Likewise  the  French  Cana 
dian,  in  less  degree,  is  rigid  and  obstinate ;  the 
habitant  follows  his  father's  footsteps  with  the 
fidelity  of  instinct,  what  he  learned  to  do  as  a 
boy  he  does  as  a  man,  and  unless  he  emigrate, 
he  remains  the  same  from  generation  to  genera 
tion.  Were  it  not  for  assaults  from  the  outer 
world,  his  gun,  his  plough,  his  boat  would  re 
main  as  they  were  in  Frontenac's  time ;  so  would 
his  gayety  and  his  politeness.  In  1842  the  fron 
tiersman,  also,  on  the  borders  of  Vermont  and 
Maine,  was  not  greatly  changed  from  his  pre- 


8  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

decessors  of  a  century  before.  Those  were  still 
the  days  before  the  great  Irish  immigration ; 
the  frontiersmen  whom  Parkman  met  in  his 
undergraduate  days  were  Yankees,  handling 
gun  and  axe  very  much  as  their  forefathers 
had  done,  theological,  independent,  lanky,  ready, 
rough,  unmannerly.  So,  too,  in  the  days  of  Park- 
man's  roamings,  the  woods  on  the  borders  of 
Lake  George  and  of  Lake  Champlain,  the  for 
ests  of  pine,  spruce,  oak,  and  maple,  between 
the  White  Mountains  and  the  St.  Lawrence, 
had  not  changed  since  the  French  and  Indian 
wars.  Here  fortune  favored  him.  Paris  of  the 
second  empire  was  not  like  the  Paris  of  Henri 
IV,  London  of  Queen  Victoria  was  not  the 
London  of  Charles  II ;  but  in  Parkman's  boy 
hood  great  tracts  of  the  American  forest  were 
changed  only  in  so  far  as  old  trees  had  fallen  to 
decay  and  young  shoots  had  grown  up  to  take 
their  places. 

All  these  dramatis  persons  —  the  Indian,  the 
Canadian,  the  frontiersman,  the  forest  —  could 
be  studied  in  the  life,  and  in  these  respects  Park 
man  had  great  advantages  over  other  historians. 
These  advantages  he  used  to  the  full,  and  this 
little  book  will,  in  great  measure,  consist  merely 
of  Parkman's  own  accounts  of  these  studies 
afield.  But  the  peculiar  praise  due  to  Park 
man  is  that  he  determined,  while  still  a  lad,  not 


ACHIEVEMENT  9 

merely  to  write  a  history  of  the  French  and 
English  war,  but  to  be  thorough  in  his  prepara 
tion.  Thoroughness  ordinarily  means  alcoves, 
green  shades,  spectacles  ;  with  Parkman  it  meant 
not  merely  such  "  emasculate  scholarship,"  but 
also  hardening  the  muscles,  aiming  the  rifle, 
riding  bareback,  in  order  to  qualify  the  student 
to  undertake  his  outdoor  studies. 

Fully  aware  of  the  greatness  of  his  under 
taking,  ready  and  eager  to  submit  to  whatever 
schooling  should  best  educate  him,  Parkman 
judged  that  history  should  be  written  with  a 
view  to  being  read.  However  accurate,  however 
profound  it  be,  if  it  remain  on  the  shelf,  whether 
of  the  bookshop  or  public  library,  it  is  a  failure. 

Parkman,  too,  was  deeply  impressed  with  the 
beauty,  the  color,  the  romance  of  our  North 
American  history ;  he  believed  that  beauty,  color, 
romance  are  not  mere  trappings  and  holiday 
decorations  of  history,  but  integral  parts,  and 
that  to  omit  them  is  to  be  false  to  fact.  To  some 
men  this  world,  both  present  and  past,  looks  dry, 
dull,  autumnal ;  to  Parkman  it  blossomed  with 
the  bloom  of  spring,  and  he  knew  that,  in  order 
to  gather  and  preserve  that  beauty  in  little  black 
printed  letters,  art  was  necessary,  and  that  art 
means  training.  Therefore  he  set  himself  to 
work  to  become  a  master  of  art  in  prose,  just  as 
he  worked  to  become  a  master  of  art  with  his 


10  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

rifle.  His  diaries  are  sketches  and  studies  in 
narrative,  his  reading  aimed  at  the  same  end ; 
until  after  long  years  by  this  patient  labor  he 
was  able  to  produce  those  "  glorious  "  and  "  shin 
ing  "  pages  which,  not  for  Mr.  John  Fiske  alone, 
fill  "the  most  brilliant  and  fascinating  books 
that  have  been  written  since  the  days  of  Herodo 
tus." 

By  these  means,  by  the  simple  method  of  faith 
ful  fulfillment  of  his  duty,  Parkman  accom 
plished  his  great  task.  "  The  path  of  duty  was 
the  path  of  glory,"  and  to  those  who  are  pri 
marily  concerned  with  history  and  literature,  the 
process  of  his  preparation  will  be  the  most  inter 
esting  period  of  his  life ;  but  to  those  who  prefer 
manhood  to  history,  and  fortitude  to  fame,  who 
are  zealous  for  American  character,  to  them  the 
most  brilliant  parts  of  Parkman's  story  are  the 
periods  of  enforced  idleness.  In  boyhood  he  had 
some  physical  weakness,  and  throughout  his  life 
from  undergraduate  days  till  his  death,  there 
is  one  long  record  of  physical  ills,  pausing  but 
continuing  again  inexorable,  of  lameness  that 
forbade  walking,  of  almost  complete  blindness 
that  forbade  seeing,  of  insomnia  that  banished 
sleep,  of  pain  that  stopped  the  impatient  brain. 

Intense  of  purpose,  impetuous  in  pursuit,  in 
tolerant  of  idleness,  effeminacy,  and  indifference, 
emphatic  in  belief,  dependent  on  himself  alone, 


ACHIEVEMENT  11 

pleasant  to  his  acquaintance,  beloved  by  his 
friends,  he  fought  his  way  through  fifty  years  of 
achievement,  a  worthy  comrade  to  those  great 
figures  in  his  histories  whom  he  has  lifted  to 
fame  and  honor. 


CHAPTER  II 

ANCESTRY 

INDOMITABLE  resolution  was  the  chief  trait  in 
Francis  Parkman.  It  may  be  somewhat  fanciful 
to  trace  a  single  trait  up  the  male  line  through 
eight  generations,  but  in  Parkman 's  case  there 
is  satisfaction  in  finding  that  this  ascent  takes  us 
to  Devonshire,  the  breeding  place  of  indomitable 
spirit.  Parkman's  last  English  ancestor  was  Wil 
liam  Parkman  of  Sidmouth,  Devon,  of  whom  we 
know  little,  yet  at  least  that  he  was  born  and 
bred  in  Elizabethan  England,  in  the  same  shire 
that  begot  Raleigh,  Drake,  Gilbert,  Hawkins, 
and  other  freebooting  buccaneers,  and  that  he 
was  entitled  to  a  birthright  of  will  and  courage. 
William's  son  Elias  emigrated  to  Massachusetts 
Bay  prior  to  1633;  there  he  married,  and  be 
got  a  line  of  descendants,  over  whom  —  worthy 
people  with  Old  Testament  names  —  we  may 
lightly  skip  to  the  fourth  generation  from  the 
Devonshire  ancestor.  In  that  generation  the 
twelfth  child,  Ebenezer,  is  well  known  by  reason 
of  a  journal  which  he  kept  for  many  years.  He 
graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1721,  at  the 


ANCESTRY  13 

age  of  eighteen,  and  three  years  later  was  elected 
town  minister  of  Westborough,  Massachusetts. 
He  continued  his  ministry  in  this  little  town  for 
fifty-eight  years,  until  his  death.  His  published 
journal  begins  abruptly  on  February  13,  1737, 
about  two  years  after  his  first  wife's  death.  The 
minister's  second  attempt  at  wooing  is  recorded 
thus : — 

Feb.  17.  Capt  Foot  &  Sister  Elizabeth  &  M™ 
Mary  Tilestone  took  a  ride  with  me  in  a  double 
slay  at  evening  to  Capt.  Robert  Sharp's  at  Brook- 
line,  &  Brr  Elias  came  to  us  upon  my  horse,  after 
supper  there.  At  10  o'clock  they  returned  in  ye 
slay  but  I  tarried.  N.  B.  The  discovery  of  my 
Inclinations  to  Capt  Sharp  &  to  Mm.  By  yeir 
urgent  Persuasions  I  tarried  and  lodged  there. 
N.  B.  Mr_8  Susannah  Sharp.  [Mistress  Susan 
nah  was  twenty-one  years  old.]  .  .  . 

March  3d.  Towards  night  I  rode  over  to  Rox- 
bury.  N.  B.  I  proceeded  to  Capt  Sharp's.  By 
Capt  Sharp's  strong  Solicitation  I  tarried  all 
night.  N.  B.  Mrs  Susan  not  very  willing  to 
think  of  going  so  far  in  ye  Country  as  West- 
borough,  &G  &G  &G.  .  .  . 

March  4.  I  returned  P.  M.  from  Town  &  went 
again  to  Capt  Sharp's.  N.  B.  Capt  Sharp  & 
Mm.  gone  to  the  Funeral  of  a  Relation  at  Rox- 
bury.  I  tarried  whilst  the  Capt  and  his  spouse 
came  home.  Arguments  which  be  fruitless  with 
Mrs  Susan.  I  returned  to  Father  Champney's 
between  8  and  9  in  ye  Evening. 

[This  rebuff  was  received  philosophically.] 


14  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

March.  18.  Eve  at  Dr.  Gott's.  Mr-  Gott  had 
been  very  ill,  but  is  recovering.  Mrs  Hannah 
Breek  with  her,  but  I  spent  my  time  with  ye 
men.  [Mistress  Hannah  was  twenty-one  years 
old  and  was  a  younger  sister  of  Mrs.  Gott.]  .  .  . 

March.  19.  A.  M.  To  Dr.  Gott's,  but  a  short 
space  with  Mrs  Hannah.  At  my  Request,  she 
had  (she  assured  me)  burnt  my  Letters,  Poems, 
etc  ... 

March  25.  I  rode  to  Marlb  [Marlborough] . 
Spent  ye  afternoon  at  Dr  Gott's  —  was  at  ye 
Coll.'s,  [certain  friends]  but  returned  to  Dr's. 
M'  Hovey  there  with  a  Bass  Viol.  N.  B.  M? 
H h  B k  at  ye  Dr's  still.  Our  conversa 
tion  of  a  piece  with  what  it  used  to  be.  I  mark 
her  admirable  Conduct,  her  Prudence  and  wis 
dom,  her  good  manners  and  her  distinguishing 
Respectfulness  to  me  wc  [which]  accompany  her 
Denyals.  After  it  grew  late  in  ye  Even'g,  I 
rode  home  to  Westb.,  through  the  Dark  and  the 
Dirt  but  cheerfully  and  comfortably  (compara 
tively).  .  .  . 

April.  1.  At  Eve,  I  was  at  Dr.  Gotts,  Mrs 

H h  was  thought  to  be  gone  up  to  Mr 

Week's  or  Capt  Williams,  with  design  to  lodge 
there,  but  she  returned  to  ye  Doctor's.  And  she 
gave  me  her  Company  till  it  was  very  late.  Her 
Conversation  was  very  Friendly,  and  with  divers 
expressions  of  Singular  and  Peculiar  Regard. 

Hfemorand™,  Oscul :  But  she  cannot  yield  to 
being  a  step  mother.  —  I  lodged  there,  and  with 
grt  Satisfaction  &  Composure. 

The  two  were  married  in  September  and  lived 
very  contentedly,  yet  an  entry  on  the  anniversary 


ANCESTRY  15 

of  his  first  wife's  death,  forty-three  years  after 
wards,  betrays  the  fact  that  she  was  his  real 
love. 

The  records  of  this  diary,  brief  and  matter-of- 
fact  as  they  are,  bring  a  vivid  picture  of  the  sim 
ple,  frugal  country  life  of  the  time.  The  minis 
ter's  salary  was  eked  out,  or  perhaps  wholly  paid, 
by  the  labor  and  the  gifts  of  his  congregation. 
For  instance,  in  October,  the  month  after  his 
marriage,  occur  the  entries :  — 

6.  Young  men  came  to  gather  my  corn.    Set 
ym  to  work.  .  .  . 

About  18  or  20  hands  husked  out  all  my 
Corn.  N.  B.  in  my  absence  Winter  Apples 
gathered  in.  ... 

7.  M?  John  Pratt  brought  home  my  cyder  which 
he  had  made.  .  .  . 

12.  M*  Lock  came  &  carried  in  Corn.  .  .  . 

13.  At   evening    Brr   Hicks    helped    in    more 
Corn.  .  .  . 

14.  Jonn  Kogers  got   in  Pumpkins,   &    ye    re 
mainder  of  ye  Corn.  .  .  . 

15.  Noah  How  helped  in  with  Turnips  &  some 
of  ye  Potatoes.  .  .  . 

In  this  Westborough  minister  we  have  a  typi 
cal  instance  of  the  moral  and  intellectual  life  of 
New  England  in  that  awkward  age  of  transition 
preceding  the  Revolutionary  War,  during  which 
Massachusetts  and  its  fellow  settlements  were 
passing  from  boyhood  to  manhood.  Here  were 


16  FRANCIS  TARKMAN 

still  the  narrow  horizon,  the  scant  intellectual 
resources,  and  the  tough  conservatism  of  Puritan 
days,  but  also  that  rigid  sentiment  of  duty  and 
that  desire  to  do  well  and  to  make  the  most  of 
granted  opportunities,  which  have  made  New 
England  what  she  has  been.  Francis  Parkman 
and  his  great-grandfather,  with  the  differences 
appropriate  to  their  generations,  held  in  com 
mon  this  belief,  that  life  is  man's  opportunity  to 
try  his  mettle,  to  measure  himself  against  adverse 
forces,  and  to  determine  whether  he  or  they  be 
the  stronger  and  more  resolute.  The  minister's 
intellectual  life  was  limited,  but  not  willfully  lim 
ited.  He  endeavored  to  acquaint  himself  with 
a  wider  range  of  thought  than  ordinarily  found 
its  way  into  Westborough.  On  the  13th  of  July, 
1779,  is  this  entry :  - 

Mr  Adams  has  brought  home  to  me  at  length 
Sir  Wm  Temple.  He  has  led  me  also  into  an  Ex 
change  of  a  number  of  Books  viz.  For  Voetius  3 
vols,  I  have  T)T.  Stanhope's  Thomas  a  Kempis  Dr 
Calamy,  of  Vows :  Horneck's  crucified  Jesus,  & 
T)r.  Goodman's  Old  Religion.  For  Monsr  Boi- 
leau's  2d  vol  and  Mat  Prior's  Works  2  vols,  I 
have  Dr  Hammond's  Annotations  in  large  Folio. 
For  the  Lay  Monastery,  I  have  Herman  Pru 
dence,  &  Three  Select  Pieces  of  Mr  Thos.  Shep 
herd.  For  Comin's  Real  Christian,  unbound,  I 
gave  him  at  his  proposal  a  Pound  of  Sugar.  He 
presented  me  a  Pamphlet,  D*  Gibson  on  ye  Sin- 
fulness  of  Neglecting  and  profaning  the  Lord's 


ANCESTRY  17 

Day.   N.  B.  I  returned  him  Drexilius  on  Eter 
nity. 

The  Rev.  Ebenezer  Parkman  died  in  his  eighti 
eth  year.  His  successor  in  our  story  is  Samuel  j 
Parkman,  his  son,  a  prosperous  merchant  and 
prominent  citizen  of  Boston.  He  began  life  a  poor 
boy  —  his  father's  purse  was  too  light  to  pay  col 
lege  fees ;  "  he  did  his  own  lugging,"  as  he  said 
in  his  opulent  age,  and  when  he  came  to  die  left 
a  large  property,  a  portion  of  which  enabled  our 
historian  to  devote  his  life  to  a  non-money-getting 
pursuit. 

Several  of  SamueFs  brothers  displayed  their 
New  England  spirit:  William,  at  the  age  of 
seventeen,  served  in  a  Massachusetts  regiment 
during  the  French  war,  keeping  a  diary,  —  a 
family  trait ;  Breck,  a  minute-man,  marched 
from  Westborough  to  Lexington  on  the  19th  of 
April,  1775  ;  a  third  brother  also  served  in  the 
Continental  Army. 

Samuel's  son  Francis,  father  of  the  historian, 
was  born  in  1788,  and  graduated  at  Harvard 
College  in  1807.  Destined  for  the  pulpit,  he  stud 
ied  theology  under  William  Ellery  Channing, 
and,  in  obedience  to  the  moral  law  which  then 
prevailed  in  Boston,  became  a  Unitarian.  He 
took  to  his  grandfather's  calling,  and  in  1813 
was  ordained  pastor  of  the  New  North  Church, 
where  he  remained  throughout  his  active  life,  and 


18  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

until  his  son  Francis  had  grown  to  manhood. 
He  was  a  kind,  benevolent  man,  esteemed  an  elo 
quent  preacher  with  "  a  special  gift  in  prayer," 
and  took  a  prominent  place  among  his  fellow 
clergy.  For  thirty  years  he  was  one  of  the 
overseers  of  Harvard  College,  and  presented  a 
sum  of  money  towards  the  endowment  of  the 
Parkman  Professorship  of  Theology.  His  con 
versation  was  well  spiced  with  wit  and  humor ; 
anecdotes  of  his  high  spirits  in  talk  are  still 
remembered.  He  possessed  a  tenacious  conserva 
tism,  and  yet  in  spite  of  this  their  common  trait, 
he  was  very  unlike  his  more  serious  son,  and 
did  not  sympathize  with  his  literary  ambition. 
Notwithstanding  their  differences  and  fundamen 
tal  lack  of  sympathy,  he  was  a  good  father,  and 
did  his  duty  as  he  saw  it  towards  his  son.  To 
him  a  noble  eulogy  has  been  paid,  "  he  was  par 
ticularly  kind  to  the  unattractive."  His  house 
was  open  and  hospitable,  and  many  guests  of 
note  in  their  day  were  entertained  there.  Happy 
memories  long  lingered  on  of  "  that  blessed  5 
Bowdoin  Square  house  and  its  radiant  inmates 
.  .  .  that  spacious,  hospitable  mansion  graced 
by  a  household  into  which  it  was  an  unspeakable 
privilege  for  a  child  to  have  been  born." 

Francis  Parkman  resembled  his  mother  more 
than  his  father.  She  was  a  tender,  loving,  duti 
ful,  unselfish  woman,  a  great  favorite  in  the  large 


ANCESTRY  19 

family  circle,  whose  interest  in  life  did  not  often 
travel  beyond  the  threshold  of  her  home ;  she, 
too,  was  of  Puritan  stock,  having  descended 
from  the  Cottons,  and  was  endowed  with  charac 
ter,  reserve,  simplicity,  and  a  certain  shrewd 
humor.  Frank  was  like  her  in  many  ways,  and 
the  older  he  grew  the  more  the  expression  of  his 
face  became  like  hers. 

Their  children  were  Francis,  Caroline,  Mary, 
Eliza,  and  John  Eliot ;  Mr.  Parkman  had  also 
an  older  child,  Sarah,  by  an  earlier  marriage. 


CHAPTER  III 

BOYHOOD 

FRANCIS  PARKMAN,  the  historian,  was  born 
September  16,  1823,  in  a  house  on  a  little  street 
which  runs  across  the  northern  slope  of  Beacon 
Hill,  then  known  as  Somerset  Place,  now  Allston 
Street.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Parkman  lived  there  until 
Frank  was  six  or  seven  years  old,  when  he  moved 
to  a  larger  house,  No.  1  Green  Street.  Town  life 
was  not  suited  to  the  boy ;  his  health  was  deli 
cate,  and  his  woodland  nature,  unsatisfied  with 
the  resources  of  his  father's  yard,  rebelled  against 
the  cramping  streets  and  alleys  of  the  city.  He 
went  to  Medford  to  live  with  his  mother's  father, 
Mr.  Nathaniel  Hall,  who,  having  retired  from 
business,  kept  a  farm  about  a  mile  from  the  vil 
lage.  Frank,  as  day-scholar,  attended  a  boarding- 
school  for  boys  and  girls  kept  by  Mr.  John 
Angier,  a  graduate  of  Harvard  College.  Others 
liked  the  school  but  Frank  did  not,  and  since  with 
boys  as  well  as  with  men  learning  waits  upon 
liking,  he  learned  little ;  but  he  was  constant  in 
his  attendance  at  another  school,  adapted  to  his 
disposition  and  well  equipped  to  teach  him  the 


BOYHOOD  21 

beginnings  of  that  knowledge  which  was  to  make 
him  famous,  —  the  school  of  the  woods.  At  the 
distance  of  a  few  rods  from  Mr.  Hall's  farm  lay 
the  Middlesex  Fells,  a  capital  wilderness.  This 
tract  of  six  or  seven  square  miles,  of  rocky, 
barren  soil,  retained  no  marks  of  certain  ancient 
and  vain  attempts  at  cultivation  except  some  old 
apple-trees  and  tumble-down  stone  walls.  It  had 
ponds,  —  one,  half  a  mile  across  ;  a  hill  hundreds 
of  feet  high ;  heaths,  glens,  dales,  crags ;  thickets 
full  of  trees  too  big  to  clasp,  jungles  of  under 
brush  ;  rotten  stumps  to  be  smashed  by  a  battle- 
axe  ;  thick  moss  to  drive  a  spear  into ;  mud  to 
smear  new  clothes  from  head  to  foot ;  glorious 
varieties  of  dirt,  and  all  the  riches  of  a  wilder 
ness.  In  this  great  school  and  playground  the 
boy  spent  all  the  time  he  could  save  from  Mr. 
Angier,  gathering  birds'  eggs,  setting  traps  for 
squirrels  and  woodchucks,  catching  snakes,  or 
creeping  on  his  belly  with  bow  and  arrow  to 
get  a  shot  at  a  robin,  which,  in  spite  of  the 
utmost  ingenuity  of  approach,  by  some  chance, 
miraculous  in  the  hunter's  eyes,  almost  always 
succeeded  in  flying  away  unharmed.  These  days 
of  rambling  through  this  trackless  forest  were 
among  the  happiest  of  his  life ;  he  always  liked 
to  look  back  upon  them.  No  doubt  they  owe  a 
part  of  their  joyous  colors  to  the  black  back 
ground  of  Mr.  Angier's  school.  In  spite  of  a 


22  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

pure  and  honest  purpose  of  play,  the  roamings 
in  Middlesex  Fells  provided  Frank  with  some 
knowledge  ;  here  he  began  to  make  a  collection 
of  minerals,  which  gradually  grew  until  in  course 
of  time  it  became  worthy  to  be  presented  to  the 
Harvard  Natural  History  Society  ;  here  he 
hacked,  picked,  and  plucked  trees  and  flowers 
till  he  found  to  his  surprise  that  he  had  learned 
a  little  botany ;  here  he  acquired  a  love  of  plants 
which  in  later  days,  when  ill  health  chained  him 
to  a  garden  chair,  opened  to  him  the  vegetable 
kingdom ;  here  he  picked  up,  by  tail  and  hind 
legs,  newts,  frogs,  polly wogs ;  and  made  close 
acquaintance  with  all  kinds  of  little  living  crea 
tures. 

Now  things  there  are  that,  upon  him  who  sees, 
A  strong  vocation  lay ;  and  strains  there  are 
That  whoso  hears  shall  hear  for  evermore. 

So,  in  these  early  days,  one  may  discover  the 
bent  of  Parkman's  mind  towards  the  forest ;  here, 
to  quote  his  words,  "  he  became  enamoured  of  the 
woods,"  and  plainly  showed  that  inclination  to 
wards  outdoor  schooling  and  self-instruction  in 
nature  to  which  he  gave  loose  rein  in  college. 

After  four  years  at  Medford  Frank  went  back 
to  Boston  to  live  with  his  parents.  In  spite  of 
active  life  in  the  country,  his  body  was  not  ro 
bust,  and  perhaps  physical  inability  to  join  in 
athletic  games  was  the  cause  that  turned  the 


BOYHOOD  23 

boy's  attention  to  the  indoor  diversion  of  chem 
istry.  There  was  a  shed  at  the  rear  of  the  house 
which  his  father  converted  into  a  laboratory,  and 
here  Frank  shut  himself  up  too  steadily  for  the 
good  of  his  health,  and  devoted  himself  to  chem 
ical  experiments.  In  his  fragmentary  autobio 
graphy  he  says  that  he  accomplished  nothing 
beyond  poisoning  himself  with  noxious  gases  and 
scorching  his  skin  with  explosions  ;  but  probably 
he  did  well  enough,  his  years  considered,  for  his 
masterful  disposition  always  determined  to  have 
the  upper  hand  in  a  grapple  with  any  study  to 
which  he  turned.  He  impressed  his  comrades 
with  respect  for  his  skill,  and  succeeded  in  mak 
ing  an  electrical  machine  with  which  he  admin 
istered  shocks  to  sundry  rash  boys  and  girls.  He 
also  entertained  himself  and  his  friends  with 
lectures,  duly  announced  by  printed  bills. 

In  the  autobiography  an  extreme  seriousness, 
begotten  in  great  part  by  long  illness,  seems  to 
have  cast  a  shadow  backward  over  his  youth,  or 
at  least  to  have  left  the  man  somewhat  oblivious, 
or  careless,  of  the  lightheartedness  of  his  boy 
hood,  which,  in  fact,  had  its  fair  share  of  gayety. 
The  records  of  his  childhood  indicate  jollity  and 
happiness ;  and  he  would  have  been  most  ready 
to  acknowledge  this  and  render  thanks,  but  in 
his  little  memoir  his  mind  was  fixed  upon  the 
lessons  which  others  might  learn  from  his  life, 


24  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

and  therefore  he  passed  by  those  details  which 
in  that  view  were  irrelevant.  For  instance,  at 
the  age  of  thirteen,  Frank  and  his  companions 
turned  the  loft  of  a  barn  behind  the  house  into 
a  theatre.  They  were  the  scene-painters,  cos- 
turners,  and  in  part,  perhaps,  playwrights,  as 
well  as  the  company  of  players.  Sometimes,  in 
moments  of  greater  ambition,  they  borrowed 
costumes  from  a  theatre.  Here  is  a  copy  of  a 
play-bill,  printed  by  one  of  the  company :  — 

STAR  THEATRE. 

On  Wednesday,  Feb.  22,  will  be  presented  for  the 
first  time  in  this  Theatre,  (with  new  scenery,  &c.,)  the 
celebrated  play  of 

MY  FELLOW  CLERK! 

Mr.  Hooker F.  MINOT 

Tactic         -_--__      WM.  MARSTON 
Victim    -        -        -        -        -        -        -    Q.  A.  SHAW 

Fag    -------        F.   PARKMAN 

Mr.  Knitbrow          -        -        -        -        -       C.  DEXTER 

Bailiff P.  DEXTER 

AFTER    WHICH 

A     COMIC     SONG!! 
BY  MR.  MARSTON. 

To  conclude  with  some  interesting  experiments  in 
Chemistry  by  Mr.  Parkman,  being  his  first  appearance 
as  a  Chemist. 


Doors   open   at   1-4  before  3.     Curtain  rises  at 
1-4  after  3. 


BOYHOOD  26 

The  company  gave  performances  on  Wednes 
day  and  Saturday  afternoons,  and  acted  before 
their  public  for  a  year  or  two.  Frank  commonly 
played  women's  parts,  and  trailed  calico  skirts 
across  the  boards  with  great  effect. 

About  the  year  1837  the  Rev.  Francis  Park- 
man  left  Green  Street,  and  moved  his  family 
into  the  "hospitable  house,"  No.  5  Bowdoin^ 
Square,  which  his  father,  Samuel  Parkman  the 
merchant,  had  built.  This  was  a  large,  hand 
some  house,  in  the  colonial  style,  adorned  with 
pilasters,  which  rose  in  dignity  from  the  first 
story  to  the  roof,  with  a  round  porch  held  up 
by  Doric  pillars ;  there  was  a  grass  plot  in  front, 
and  a  general  appearance  of  prosperity.  In  the 
rear  was  a  large  paved  court,  and  beyond  that 
a  garden  sloping  away  in  terraces,  where  pear- 
trees  did  their  best  to  reconcile  boyhood  to  the 
abstinences  of  town  life.  The  house  and  its 
yard  were  characteristic  of  Boston,  displaying 
the  urban  pleasures  of  retired  leisure,  full  of 
unostentatious  ease ;  it  marked  the  change  which 
had  come  over  the  commonwealth  since  the 
days  when  her  clerical  aristocracy  dwelt  in  little 
wooden  houses  like  that  of  the  Rev.  Ebenezer 
Parkman  at  Westborough. 

Frank  went  to  school  under  Mr.  Gideon 
Thayer,  and  seems  to  have  studied  with  dili 
gence  Latin,  Greek,  English,  and  the  rudiments 


26  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

of  science.     He  himself  wrote  long  afterward 
concerning  his  experience  at  this  school :  — 

When  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  old  I  had  the 
good  luck  to  be  under  the  direction  of  Mr.  Wil 
liam  Russell,  a  teacher  of  excellent  literary  tastes 
and  acquirements.  It  was  his  constant  care  to 
teach  the  boys  of  his  class  to  write  good  and 
easy  English.  One  of  his  methods  was  to  give 
us  lists  of  words  to  which  we  were  required  to 
furnish  as  many  synonyms  as  possible,  distin 
guishing  their  various  shades  of  meaning.  He 
also  encouraged  us  to  write  translations,  in  prose 
and  verse,  from  Virgil  and  Homer,  insisting  on 
idiomatic  English,  and  criticising  in  his  gentle 
way  anything  flowery  and  bombastic.  At  this 
time  I  read  a  good  deal  of  poetry,  and  much 
of  it  remains  verbatim  in  my  memory.  As  it  in 
cluded  Milton  and  other  classics,  I  am  confident 
that  it  has  been  of  service  to  me  in  the  matter  of 
style. 

He  had  a  boyish  fancy  for  poetry,  and  put 
into  verse  the  scenes  of  the  Tournament  at 
Ashby-de-la-Zouch  in  "Ivanhoe,"  which  he  and 
other  boys  declaimed  with  the  dauntless  declama 
tion  of  boyhood.  Perhaps  the  curious  may  here 
discover  a  touch  of  that  fondness  for  rhetoric  — 
the  heart  of  the  boy  lasting  on  into  manhood  — 
that  willingness  to  express  with  purple  and  gold 
the  exaltation  of  a  high  mood  which  stayed  with 
him  always. 


CHAPTER  IV 

COLLEGE 

• 

FRANK  entered  the  class  of  1844  at  the  age  of 
seventeen.  Harvard  College  in  those  days  was 
as  different  from  the  University  of  to-day  as  the 
rivulet  from  the  river.  There  were  sixty  or  sev 
enty  students  in  the  freshman  class ;  most  of 
them  about  sixteen  years  old.  Frank  must  have 
been  one  of  the  older  boys.  The  instruction  was 
scarcely  more  advanced  than  in  a  good  school 
to-day.  President  Quincy  was  not  the  executive 
head  of  a  great  corporation  ;  he  was  the  shepherd 
of  his  flock,  the  father  of  his  children.  The 
yard  served  as  a  garden  for  Holworthy,  Massa 
chusetts,  Hollis,  S  tough  ton,  University,  the  Law 
School,  and  the  Chapel.  Football  was  played 
for  fun  or  some  such  old-fashioned  reason  on 
the  Delta,  by  all  the  boys  who  cared  to  take  off 
their  coats  and  kick.  There  were  no  boat-races 
except  such  as  random  students  rowed,  in  an 
tique  craft,  against  each  other ;  so  that  a  lad, 
like  Frank,  bent  upon  gaining  muscular  strength, 
was  obliged  to  divide  his  times  for  exercise  be- 


28  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

tween  walking,  riding,  and  dumb-bells.  In  social 
matters  numbers  were  too  few  to  permit  the 
sections  and  subsections  which  now  divide  un 
dergraduates  into  all  the  genera  and  species 
between  the  grinds,  with  nose  to  book,  and  the 
groups  of  young  Pendennises  —  lilies  of  the  field 
—  who  adorn  Kandolph  and  Claverly.  But  the 
college,  both  as  a  place  of  study  and  as  an  under 
graduate  world,  by  its  very  incompleteness,  proba 
bly  served  Frank's  purposes  as  well  as  the  present 
university  would  have  done.  In  like  manner  as 
when  a  boy  at  Medford  he  had  learned  more 
from  his  own  lessons  in  the  Middlesex  Fells  than 
in  Mr.  Angier's  class-room,  so  in  Cambridge  he 
continued  to  be  his  own  teacher,  and  pursued  a 
system  that,  if  it  had  been  followed  in  moder 
ation,  would  have  well  fitted  him  to  do  his  life's 
work.  In  his  freshman  year  that  life's  work 
was  haunting  the  background  of  his  mind,  not 
as  yet  in  the  definite  form  which  it  took  a  little 
later,  but  rather  as  a  strong  attraction  which 
drew  him  towards  the  forest,  and  persuaded  him 
that  the  way  to  woo  her  with  success  was  to  ac 
quire  strength  of  limb  and  understanding  of 
woodcraft. 

There  was  a  holiday  side  to  his  undergraduate 
life  ;  but  usually  Frank  was  going  about  his  own 
business  in  his  impetuous  Devon  fashion ;  he 
tried  to  cram  endurance  by  long  walks  taken  at 


COLLEGE  29 

a  pace  far  too  rapid  to  make  his  companionship 
comfortable,  and  spent  long  hours  into  the  night 
reading  English  classics  and  all  sorts  of  books 
concerning  American  Indians.  He  avoided  all 
interests  and  occupations  that  did  not  feed  the 
sacred  flame  of  his  forest  love. 

Prior  to  this  time  Frank  had  nursed  a  whim 
for  poetry,  and  had  entertained  a  notion  that  he 
might  become  a  poet  or  a  devotee  of  literature, 
half  poet,  half  man-of-letters,  for  he  was  fond  of 
poetry  and  had  a  knack  for  rhyming.  Traces  of 
this  taste  lasted  up  to  the  year  after  graduation, 
when  he  published  in  "  The  Knickerbocker  "  a 
poem  of  several  hundred  verses  called  "  The  New 
Hampshire  Ranger."  But  the  whim  for  poetry, 
like  the  caprice  for  chemistry,  was  quickly  van 
quished  by  the  real  interest  of  his  life ;  and 
before  the  end  of  his  freshman  year  all  thought 
of  poetry  as  a  serious  pursuit  had  passed  out  of 
his  head. 

The  real  business  of  the  year  began  with  the 
summer  vacation,  when  he  took  his  gun  and 
fishing-rod,  and,  in  the  company  of  his  class 
mate,  Daniel  Denison  Slade,  a  tall  and  athletic 
young  man,  set  forth  on  what  might  be  called  a 
field  course  in  American  history.  In  his  autobi 
ography  Parkman  says,  with  happy  recollection  : 
"  For  the  student  there  is,  in  its  season,  no  bet 
ter  place  than  the  saddle,  and  no  better  com- 


30  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

pan  ion  than  the  rifle  or  the  oar."  He  kept  a  full 
diary,  from  which  lack  of  space  forbids  quota 
tion.  The  two  went  on  foot,  with  an  occasional 
"  lift,"  to  the  White  Mountains  and  adjacent  re 
gions,  and  Parkman  enjoyed  himself  immensely. 
This  year  was  the  determining  period  of  his  life, 
for  in  it  he  resolved  to  devote  himself  to  the  task 
of  writing  the  story  of  French  colonization  and 
empire  in  North  America,  which  he  at  last  com 
pletely  accomplished  after,  as  has  been  aptly  said, 
"  a  half  century  of  conflict." 

We  need  not  suppose  that  Frank  sat  in  Mas 
sachusetts  Hall,  like  Gibbon  on  the  steps  of  the 
Capitol,  and  at  a  definite  hour  made  up  his  mind 
to  write  a  history  ;  but  in  his  sophomore  year 
"the  plan  was  in  its  most  essential  features 
formed,"  and  the  designer  immediately  set  to 
work  to  carry  out  his  plan  :  — 

Before  the  end  of  the  sophomore  year  my 
various  schemes  had  crystallized  into  a  plan  of 
writing  a  story  of  what  was  then  known  as 
the  "  Old  French  War,"  -  -  that  is,  the  war  that 
ended  in  the  conquest  of  Canada,  —  for  here,  as 
it  seemed  to  me,  the  forest  drama  was  more  stir 
ring  and  the  forest  stage  more  thronged  with 
appropriate  actors  than  in  any  other  passage  of 
our  history.  It  was  not  till  some  years  later  that 
I  enlarged  the  plan  to  include  the  whole  course 
of  the  American  conflict  between  France  and 
England,  or,  in  other  words,  the  history  of  the 


COLLEGE  31 

American  forest ;  for  this  was  the  light  in  which  I 
regarded  it.  My  theme  fascinated  me,  and  I  was 
haunted  with  wilderness  images  day  and  night. 

There  are  few  records,  if  there  are  any,  of  so 
large  a  purpose,  conceived  so  young,  and  with 
such  constancy  executed  ;  and  when  we  consider 
the  pain,  the  attacks  of  almost  complete  blind 
ness,  the  physical  infirmities  that  barred  his 
way,  we  may  excuse  those  who  in  an  outburst 
of  American  enthusiasm  challenge  the  world  to 
show  such  another  hero  in  the  world  of  letters 
since  the  death  of  Cervantes. 

Frank  took  his  share  in  the  ordinary  college 
life  of  young  gentlemen ;  he  was  a  member  of 
the  "  Institute  of  1770,"  of  the  "  Hasty  Pud 
ding,"  of  a  little  and  very  intimate  group  called 
the  Chit-Chat  Club,  whenever  the  mysterious 
letters  C.  C.  were  allowed  to  assume  all  their 
significance.  He  was  a  fair  student,  too,  taking 
certain  minor  academical  honors.  At  his  com 
mons  he  got  the  ironical  nickname,  "  The  Lo 
quacious  ; "  he  was  never  that,  though  all  life 
long  he  enjoyed  talking  with  his  friends.  He  was 
good  company,  vigorous  even  fiery  in  argument, 
entertaining,  an  excellent  story-teller,  of  lively 
imagination  and  well  provisioned  memory,  and 
on  the  whole  was  much  more  sought  than  seek 
ing.  Boy  and  man,  he  was  a  modest,  unassum 
ing,  resolute,  high-minded  gentleman. 


CHAPTER  V 

EXPLORATIONS 

THE  college  term  ended  in  July,  and  Frank  lost 
no  time  in  setting  out  upon  his  summer  excursion 
in  company  with  his  friend,  Henry  Orne  White  : 

July  15th,  '42.  Albany.  Left  Boston  this 
morning  at  half-past  six,  for  this  place,  where  I 
am  now  happily  arrived,  it  being  the  longest 
day's  journey  I  ever  made.  For  all  that,  I  would 
rather  have  come  thirty  miles  by  stage  than  the 
whole  distance  by  railroad,  for  of  all  methods  of 
progressing,  that  by  steam  is  incomparably  the 
most  disgusting.  .  .  . 

July  16th.  Caldwell.  This  morning  we  left 
Albany  —  which  I  devoutly  hope  I  may  never 
see  again  —  in  the  cars,  for  Saratoga.  .  .  .  After 
passing  the  inclined  plane  and  riding  a  couple 
of  hours,  we  reached  the  valley  of  the  Mohawk 
and  Schenectady.  I  was  prepared  for  something 
filthy  in  the  last  mentioned  venerable  town,  but 
for  nothing  quite  so  disgusting  as  the  reality. 
Canal  docks,  full  of  stinking  water,  superannu 
ated  rotten  canal-boats,  and  dirty  children  and 
pigs  paddling  about  formed  the  foreground  of 
the  delicious  picture,  while  in  the  rear  was  a 
mass  of  tumbling  houses  and  sheds,  bursting 


EXPLORATIONS  33 

open  in  all  directions,  green  with  antiquity, 
dampness,  and  lack  of  paint.  Each  house  had 
its  peculiar  dunghill,  with  the  group  of  reposing 
hogs.  In  short,  London  itself  could  exhibit  no 
thing  much  nastier.  .  .  .  Finally  reached  Sara 
toga,  having  traveled  latterly  at  the  astonishing 
rate  of  about  seven  miles  an  hour.  "  Caldwell 
stage  ready."  We  got  our  baggage  on  board,  and 
I  found  time  to  enter  one  or  two  of  the  huge 
hotels.  After  perambulating  the  entries  filled 
with  sleek  waiters  and  sneaking  fops,  dashing 
through  the  columned  porticoes  and  inclosures, 
drinking  some  of  the  water  and  spitting  it  out 
again  in  high  disgust,  I  sprang  onto  the  stage, 
cursing  Saratoga  and  all  New  York.  .  .  . 

Dined  at  the  tavern,  and  rode  on.  Country 
dreary  as  before ;  the  driver  one  of  the  best  of 
his  genus  I  ever  met.  He  regaled  me  as  we  rode 
on  with  stories  of  his  adventures  with  deer, 
skunks,  and  passengers.  A  mountain  heaved  up 
against  the  sky  some  distance  before  us,  with 
a  number  of  small  hills  stretching  away  on  each 
hand,  all  wood-crowned  to  the  top.  .  .  .  But  as 
we  drew  near,  the  mountain  in  front  assumed  a 
wilder  and  a  loftier  aspect.  Crags  started  from 
its  woody  sides  and  leaned  over  a  deep  valley 
below.  "  What  mountain  is  that  ?  "  "  That  'ere 
is  French  Mounting,"  -  —  the  scene  of  one  of  the 
most  desperate  and  memorable  battles  in  the  old 
French  War.  As  we  passed  down  the  valley, 
the  mountain  rose  above  the  forest  half  a  mile 
on  our  right,  while  a  hill  on  the  left,  close  to  the 
road,  formed  the  other  side.  The  trees  flanked 
the  road  on  both  sides.  In  a  little  opening  in 


34  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

the  woods,  a  cavity  in  the  ground  with  a  pile  of 
stones  at  each  end  marked  the  spot  where  was 
buried  that  accomplished  warrior  and  gentleman, 
Colonel  Williams,  whose  bones,  however,  have 
since  been  removed.  Farther  on  is  the  rock  on 
the  right  where  he  was  shot,  having  mounted  it 
on  the  look-out  —  an  event  which  decided  the 
day '  the  Indians  and  English  broke  and  fled  at 
once.  Still  farther  on  is  the  scene  of  the  third 
tragedy  of  that  day,  when  the  victorious  French, 
having  been  in  their  turn,  by  a  piece  of  good 
luck,  beaten  by  the  valorous  Johnson  at  his  in- 
trenchment  by  the  lake,  were  met  at  this  place 
on  their  retreat  by  McGinnis,  and  almost  cut  to 
pieces.  Bloody  Pond,  a  little  slimy  dark  sheet 
of  stagnant  water,  covered  with  weeds  and  pond- 
lilies  and  shadowed  by  the  gloomy  forest  around 
it,  is  the  place  where  hundreds  of  dead  bodies 
were  flung  after  the  battle,  and  where  the  bones 
still  lie.  A  few  miles  farther,  and  Lake  George 
lay  before  us,  the  mountains  and  water  confused 
and  indistinct  in  the  mist.  We  rode  into  Cald- 
well,  took  supper  —  a  boat  —  and  then  a  bed. 

July  17th.  Caldwell.  The  tavern  is  full  of 
fashionable  New  Yorkers  —  all  of  a  piece. 
Henry  and  myself  both  look  like  the  Old  Nick, 
and  are  evidently  looked  upon  in  a  manner  cor 
responding.  I  went  this  morning  to  see  William 
Henry.  The  old  fort  is  much  larger  than  I  had 
thought ;  the  earthen  mounds  cover  many  acres. 
It  stood  on  the  southwest  extremity  of  the  lake, 
close  by  the  water.  The  enterprising  genius  of 
the  inhabitants  has  made  a  road  directly  through 
the  ruins,  and  turned  bastion,  moat,  and  glacis 


EXPLORATIONS  36 

into  a  flourishing  cornfield,  so  that  the  spot  so 
celebrated  in  our  colonial  history  is  now  scarcely 
to  be  distinguished.  Large  trees  are  growing 
on  the  untouched  parts,  especially  on  the  em 
bankment  along  the  lake  shore.  In  the  rear,  a 
hundred  or  two  yards  distant,  is  a  gloomy  wood 
of  pines,  where  the  lines  of  Montcalm  can 
easily  be  traced.  A  little  behind  these  lines  is 
the  burying  place  of  the  French  who  fell  during 
that  memorable  siege.  The  marks  of  a  thousand 
graves  can  be  seen  among  the  trees,  which  of 
course  have  sprung  up  since.  .  .  .  One  of  Mont- 
calm's  lines  ran  northwest  of  the  tavern  toward 
the  mountains.  Two  or  three  years  ago  in  dig 
ging  for  some  purpose,  a  great  quantity  of  deer, 
bear,  and  moose  bones  were  found  here,  with 
arrows  and  hatchets,  which  the  tavern  keeper 
thinks  mark  the  place  of  some  Indian  feast. 
The  spikes  and  timbers  of  sunken  vessels  may 
be  seen  in  strong  sunlight,  when  the  water  is 
still,  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake,  along  the  southern 
beach.  Abercrombie  sunk  his  boats  here.  There 
are  remains  of  batteries  on  French  Mt.,  and  the 
mountain  north  of  it,  I  suppose  to  command 
the  road  from  Ft.  Edward.  This  evening  visited 
the  French  graves.  I  write  this  at  camp,  July 
18th.  Just  turned  over  my  ink  bottle  and  spilt 
all  the  ink. 

July  18th.  Camp  at  Diamond  Island.  Set  out 
this  morning  in  an  excellent  boat,  hired  at  Cald- 
well.  .  .  .  We  landed  occasionally,  and  fished 
as  we  went  along.  About  ten  o'clock  stretched 
across  Middle  Bay  and  got  bread,  pork,  and 
potatoes  at  a  farmhouse,  with  which  and  our  fish 


36  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

we  regaled  ourselves  at  a  place  half  way  down 
the  Bay.  Here  1  wrote  my  journal  for  yesterday  ; 
we  slept  an  hour  or  two  on  the  ground,  bathed, 
and  read  Goldsmith,  which  Henry  brought  in  his 
knapsack.  At  three  we  proceeded  to  explore  the 
bay  to  its  bottom,  returned,  made  for  Diamond 
Island,  which  is  now  uninhabited,  prepared  our 
camp  and  went  to  sleep. 

July  19th.  I  woke  this  morning  about  as  weak 
and  spiritless  as  well  could  be.  All  enterprise  and 
activity  was  fairly  gone  ;  how  I  cannot  tell,  but 
I  cursed  the  weather  as  the  most  probable  cause. 
Such  has  been  the  case  with  me,  to  a  greater 
or  less  degree,  for  the  last  three  or  four  weeks. 
Rowed  to-day  along  the  eastern  shore.  .  .  .  But 
everything  was  obscured  with  mist.  When  the 
wind  became  less  violent  we  rowed  to  an  island 
in  the  middle,  where  we  are  now  encamped. 

Wednesday,  July  20th.  Entered  the  narrows 
this  morning,  and  rowed  among  all  the  islands 
and  along  all  the  shores.  .  .  .  We  passed  under 
Black  Mt.,  whose  precipices  and  shaggy  woods 
wore  a  very  savage  and  impressive  aspect  in  that 
peculiar  weather,  and  kept  down  the  lake  seven 
miles  to  Sabbath  Day  Pt.  High  and  steep  moun 
tains  flanked  the  lake  the  whole  way.  In  front, 
at  some  distance  they  seemed  to  slope  gradually 
away,  and  a  low  green  point,  with  an  ancient 
dingy  house  upon  it,  closed  the  perspective.  This 
was  Sabbath  Day  Pt.,  the  famous  landing  place 
of  many  a  huge  army.  .  .  .  We  ran  our  boat  on 
the  beach  of  Sabbath  Day  Pt.  and  asked  lodg 
ing  at  the  house.  An  old  woman,  after  a  multi 
tude  of  guesses  and  calculations,  guessed  as  how 


EXPLORATIONS  37 

she  could  accommodate  us  with  a  supper  and  a 
bed,  though  she  could  n't  say  nohow  how  we 
should  like  it,  seeing  as  how  she  warn't  used  to 
visitors.  The  house  was  an  old,  rickety,  dingy 
shingle  palace,  with  a  potato  garden  in  front, 
hogs  perambulating  the  outhouses,  and  a  group 
of  old  men  and  women  engaged  in  earnest  con 
versation  in  the  tumble-down  portico.  The  chief 
figure  was  an  old  gray-haired  man,  tall  and  spare 
as  a  skeleton,  who  was  giving  some  advice  to  a 
chubby  old  lady  about  her  corns. 

"  Well  now,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  I  declare 
they  hurt  me  mighty  bad." 

"  I  '11  give  you  something  to  cure  them  right 
off." 

"  What  is  it  ?  I  hope  it  ain't  snails.  I  always 
hated  snails  since  I  was  a  baby,  but  I  've  heerd 
say  they  are  better  for  corns  nor  anything  else 
at  all,"  etc.,  etc. 

The  old  man  was  a  revolutionary  pensioner, 
Captain  Patchin  by  name,  and  stout-hearted, 
hale,  and  clever  by  nature.  .  .  . 

Thursday,  21st.  Fished  for  bass.  .  .  .  We 
caught  fish  enough,  landed,  and  with  Myrtle 
Bailey,  one  of  the  young  Brobdignagians,  a  sim 
ple,  good-natured,  strong-handed,  grinning  son 
of  the  plough,  set  out  on  a  rattlesnake  hunt  on 
the  mountain  back  of  the  Point.  .  .  .  We  soon 
reached  a  still  higher  point,  which  commanded 
the  noblest  view  of  the  lake  I  had  yet  seen. 
There  would  be  no  finer  place  for  gentlemen's 
seats  than  this ;  but  now,  for  the  most  part,  it  is 
occupied  by  a  race  of  boors  about  as  uncouth, 
mean,  and  stupid  as  the  hogs  they  seem  chiefly  to 


38  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

delight  in.  The  captain's  household  is  an  excep 
tion.  .  .  .  Afternoon:  Fished  again.  Evening: 
Fished  again,  and  caught  a  very  large  bass  —  all 
in  company  of  Myrtle,  whose  luck  not  satisfying 
him,  he  cursed  the  "  darned  cussed  fish  "  in  most 
fervent  style. 

Friday,  22nd.  Left  old  Patchin's  this  morn 
ing.  .  .  .  We  broke  an  oar  when  within  about 
half  a  mile,  and  paddled  to  shore  with  great  dif 
ficulty  through  a  considerable  surf  which  was 
dashing  against  the  beach  like  the  waves  of  the 
ocean.  We  found  the  post-office  a  neat  little 
tavern  kept  by  one  Garfield,  entitled  the  Judge. 
He  referred  us  to  a  carpenter,  who  promised  to 
make  an  oar  forthwith,  and  worked  six  hours 
upon  it,  an  interval  which  I  spent  chiefly  in 
wandering  through  the  country.  .  .  .  Returned 
to  Garfield's,  and  found  there  Mr.  Gibbs  with 
his  wife  the  "  vocalist."  Presently  the  man  ap 
peared  with  the  oar  finished.  White  undertook 
to  pay  him  with  a  Naumkeag  Bank  bill  —  the 
only  bills  he  had.  "  Don't  know  nothing  about 
that  money:  wait  till  Garfield  comes  and  he'll 
tell  whether  it 's  genuine  or  not."  "  There  's  the 
paper,"  said  I ;  "  look  and  see."  He  looked  —  all 
was  right.  "  Well,  are  you  satisfied  ?  "  "  How 
do  I  know  but  what  that  ere  bill  is  counterfeit. 
It  has  a  sort  of  counterfeit  look  about  it  to  my 
eyes.  Deacon,  what  do  you  say  to  it?"  The 
deacon  put  on  his  spectacles,  held  the  bill  to  the 
light,  turned  it  this  way  and  that,  tasted  of  it, 
and  finally  pronounced  that  according  to  his  cal 
culation  it  was  good.  But  the  carpenter  was  not 
contented.  "  'Bijah,  you  're  a  judge  of  bills ; 


EXPLORATIONS  39 

what  do  you  think  ?  "  'Bijah,  after  a  long  exam 
ination,  gave  as  his  opinion  that  it  was  counter 
feit.  All  parties  were  beginning  to  wax  wroth, 
when  the  judge  entered  and  decided  that  the  bill 
was  good. 

We  pushed  from  the  beach  and  steered  down 
the  lake,  passed  some  islands,  and  beheld  in 
front  of  us  two  grim  mountains,  standing  guard 
over  a  narrow  strait  of  dark  water  between.  .  .  . 
One  of  these  mountains  was  the  noted  Rogers 
Slide,  the  other,  almost  as  famous,  Anthony's 
Nose,  Jr.  Both  had  witnessed,  in  their  day,  the 
passage  of  twenty  vast  armies  in  the  strait  be 
tween  ;  and  there  was  not  an  echo  on  either  but 
had  answered  to  the  crack  of  rifles  and  screams 
of  dying  men.  We  skirted  the  base  of  the  Nose 

—  for  which  sentimental  designation  I  could  find 
no  manner  of  reason  —  till  we  arrived  opposite 
the  perpendicular  front  of  his  savage  neighbor. 
About  a  mile  of  water  was  between.   We  ran  the 
boat  ashore  on  a  shelving  rock,  and  looked  for  a 
camping  place  among  the  precipices.    We  found, 
to  our  surprise,  at  the  side  of  a  steep  rock,  amid 
a  growth  of  cedars  and  hemlocks,  a  little  inclos- 
ure  of  logs,  like  a  diminutive  log  cabin  without 
a  roof.    We  made  beds  in  it  of  hemlock  boughs 

—  there  was  just  space  enough  —  brought   up 
our  baggage  and  guns,  ate  what  supper  we  had, 
and   essayed   to  go   asleep.    But  we   might   as 
well  have  slept  under  a  shower-bath  of  melted 
iron.    In  that  deep  sheltered  spot,  bugs,  mos 
quitoes,  and  "  no-see-ems  "  swarmed  innumera 
ble.  .  .  .  This  morning  was  the  most  toilsome 
we  have  passed.   The  wind  was  dead  against  us ; 


40  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

the  waves  ran  with  a  violence  I  had  never  seen 
before  except  on  the  ocean.  It  required  the 
full  force  of  both  arms  to  hold  the  boat  on  her 
course.  If  we  slackened  our  efforts  for  a  single 
moment,  she  would  spin  round  and  drive  back 
wards.  We  had  about  twelve  miles  to  row  under 
these  agreeable  auspices. 

"Well,"  said  White,  "you  call  this  fun,  do 
you  ?  To  be  eaten  by  bugs  all  night  and  work 
against  head  winds  all  day  is  n't  according  to  my 
taste,  whatever  you  may  think  of  it." 

"Are  you  going  to  back  out  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Back  out,  yes  ;  when  I  get  into  a  bad  scrape, 
I  back  out  of  it  as  quick  as  I  can,"  and  so  he 
went  on  with  marvelous  volubility  to  recount  his 
grievances.  Lake  George  he  called  a  "  scrubby 
looking  place,"  —  said  there  was  no  fishing  in  it 
—  he  hated  camping,  and  would  have  no  more  of 
it,  —  he  would  n't  live  so  for  another  week  to  save 
his  life,  etc.,  etc.  Verily,  what  is  one  man's  meat 
is  another  man's  poison.  What  troubles  me 
more  than  his  treachery  to  our  plans  is  his  want 
of  cash,  which  will  make  it  absolutely  necessary 
to  abandon  our  plan  of  descending  through 
Maine.  His  scruples  I  trust  to  overcome  in  time. 

We  reached  Patchin's  at  last,  and  were  wel 
comed  by  the  noble  old  veteran  as  cordially  as  if 
we  were  his  children.  We  dined,  and  sat  in  his 
portico,  listening  to  his  stories.  He  is  eighty- 
six.  .  .  . 

We  consigned  our  boat  to  the  captain,  to  be 
carried  back  to  Caldwell,  and  got  on  a  stage  we 
found  at  the  wharf,  which  carried  us  to  the  village 
of  Ty.  [Ticonderoga].  It  is  a  despicable  manu- 


EXPLORATIONS  41 

facturing  place,  straggling  and  irregular, — mills, 
houses,and  heaps  of  lumber, — situated  in  abroad 
valley  with  the  outlet  of  Lake  George  running 
through  the  middle,  a  succession  of  fierce  rapids, 
with  each  its  saw-mill.  I  bespoke  me  here  a  pair 
of  breeches  of  a  paddy  tailor  who  asked  me  if  I 
did  not  work  on  board  the  steamboat,  a  question 
which  aggravated  me  not  a  little.  I  asked  a 
fellow  the  way  to  the  fort.  "  Well,"  said  he, 
"  I  've  heerd  of  such  a  place,  seems  to  me,  but  I 
never  seen  it,  and  could  n't  tell  ye  where  it  be." 
"  You  must  be  an  idiot,"  thought  I ;  but  I  found 
his  case  by  no  means  singular.  At  last  I  got  the 
direction,  and  walked  about  two  miles  before  I 
saw  the  remains  of  a  high  earthen  parapet  with 
a  ditch  running  through  a  piece  of  woods  for  a 
great  distance.  This,  I  suppose,  was  the  place 
where  the  French  beat  off  Abercrombie's  army. 
Farther  on,  in  a  great  plain  scantily  covered 
with  wood,  were  breastworks  and  ditches  in 
abundance  running  in  all  directions,  which  I 
took  for  the  work  of  Amherst's  besieging  army. 
Still  farther  were  two  or  three  square  redoubts. 
At  length,  mounting  a  little  hill,  a  cluster  of 
gray  ruined  walls,  like  an  old  chateau,  with 
mounds  of  earth  and  heaps  of  stone  about  them, 
appeared  crowning  an  eminence  in  front.  When 
I  reached  them,  I  was  astonished  at  the  extent 
of  the  ruins.  Thousands  of  men  might  have  en 
camped  in  the  area.  All  around  were  ditches,  of 
such  depth  that  it  would  be  death  to  jump  down, 
with  walls  of  masonry  sixty  feet  high.  Ty  stands 
on  a  promontory,  with  Champlain  on  one  side 
and  the  outlet  of  Lake  George  on  the  other ;  his 


42  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

cannon  commanded  the  passage  completely.  At 
the  very  extremity  is  the  oldest  part  of  the  for 
tress,  a  huge  mass  of  masonry,  with  walls  sinking 
sheer  down  to  the  two  lakes.  All  kinds  of  weeds 
and  vines  are  clambering  over  them.  The  sense 
less  blockheads  in  the  neighborhood  have  stolen 
tons  upon  tons  of  the  stone  to  build  their  walls 
and  houses  of,  —  may  they  meet  their  reward. 

Wednesday,  27th.  In  Yankee  land  again, 
thank  heaven.  Left  Ty  this  noon  —  after  going 
over  the  ruins  again  —  in  one  of  the  great  Cham- 
plain  steamboats,  and  reached  Burlington  at 
night.  Visited  the  college.  It  was  term  time 
and  the  students  were  lounging  about  the  ugly 
buildings  or  making  abortive  attempts  at  revelry 
in  their  rooms.  The  air  was  full  of  their  diaboli 
cal  attempts  at  song.  We  decided  that  they  were 
all  green,  and  went  back,  drawing  comparisons 
by  the  way  between  the  University  of  Vermont 
and  old  Harvard. 

Thursday,  28th.  Left  Burlington  this  morn 
ing,  knapsack  on  back,  for  Canada.  .  .  .  We 
followed  the  road  through  a  deep  wood,  and 
when  we  emerged  from  it  the  village  of  Cam 
bridge  lay  before  us,  twenty-five  miles  from 
Burlington.  We  stopped  here  for  the  night. 

Friday,  29th.  From  Cambridge  we  walked  on 
to  Johnson.  ...  At  Johnson  we  took  the  stage 
for  Stanstead,  in  Canada.  The  "  stage  "  was  a 
broken  down  carryall,  into  which  six  passen 
gers  with  luggage  were  stowed,  and  the  thing 
set  in  motion  —  under  the  auspicious  influences 
of  two  sick  horses  —  over  a  road  of  diabolical 
roughness. 


EXPLORATIONS  43 

Saturday,  July  30th.  Stanstead,  Canada.  Re 
sumed  our  journey  this  morning  in  the  same 
"  stage."  .  .  .  The  place  is  large,  with  several 
handsome  churches.  There  was  nothing  in  par 
ticular  to  distinguish  it  from  a  flourishing  Yan 
kee  town  till  we  pulled  up  at  the  tavern,  where 
were  two  or  three  British  soldiers,  in  their  un 
dress,  standing  on  the  porch.  There  were  thir 
teen  of  them,  with  a  cornet,  quartered  at  the 
house,  as  there  now  are  in  all  the  border  villages. 
They  were  good-looking  fellows,  civil  enough  ; 
natives  of  the  provinces.  They  were  gathered 
round  a  fire  in  the  barroom,  smoking  and  tell 
ing  stories,  or  else  indulging  in  a  little  black 
guardism  and  knocking  one  another  about  the 
room.  They  invited  us  to  drink  with  them,  and 
the  liquor  being  mead  —  the  house  being  tem 
perance  —  we  consented.  They  have  just  clubbed 
to  buy  a  barrel  of  cider. 

Sunday,  July  31st.  Last  night  we  were  kept 
awake  by  the  din  of  bugles  and  drums  with  which 
the  soldiers  were  regaling  themselves  in  the  entry, 
singing  and  dancing  meanwhile.  This  morning 
rainy  and  dismal.  Soldiers  and  all  gathered 
round  the  stove  in  the  barroom.  Their  conver 
sation  was  about  as  decent  and  their  jokes  as 
good  as  those  of  a  convocation  of  Harvard  stu 
dents.  .  .  . 

We  set  out  on  foot  for  Canaan,  which  pro 
mised  land  some  told  us  was  twenty  miles  distant, 
while  others  reckoned  it  thirty.  The  road  for  a 
few  miles  was  good,  but  we  were  soon  compelled 
to  leave  it  and  take  a  path  through  the  woods. 
A  beautiful  river — smooth  and  rapid  —  ran 


44  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

across  the  road  under  a  bridge  of  logs,  between 
forest-covered  banks.  Not  far  from  Stanstead 
we  had  crossed  a  furious  stream,  answering  to 
the  sentimental  designation  of  the  Nigger  River. 
We  had  walked  but  a  few  miles  when  the  clouds 
settled  on  the  hills  and  it  began  to  rain.  We 
went  to  a  log  cabin  for  shelter.  The  "  old  man  " 
was  frank  and  hospitable  like  all  his  genus  I 
ever  met,  and  the  "  old  woman  "  —  a  damsel  of 
twenty-two,  who  sat  combing  her  hair  in  the  cor 
ner  —  extremely  sprightly  and  talkative.  She 
seemed  somewhat  moved  at  heart  by  the  doc 
trines  of  Miller,  whose  apostles  are  at  work  all 
along  the  Vermont  frontier.  We  abused  that 
holy  man  to  our  content,  and,  the  rain  ceasing, 
left  the  cabin.  Soon  after  leaving  this  place  we 
entered  the  aforementioned  path  through  the 
woods.  Now  and  then  there  would  be  a  clearing 
with  its  charred  stumps,  its  boundary  of  frown 
ing  wood,  and  its  log  cabin,  but  for  the  most 
part  the  forest  was  in  its  original  state.  The 
average  depth  of  the  mud  in  the  path  was  one 
foot.  .  .  .  The  day  was  showery,  with  occasional 
glimpses  of  the  sun  ;  so  that  we  were  alternately 
wet  and  dry.  .  .  .  Thence  passing  various  dwell 
ings,  and  holding  various  colloquies  with  the  in 
mates,  we  reached  Canaan,  and  a  good  tavern. 
The  landlord  has  quartered  [us]  in  his  hall  — 
large  as  a  barn.  Canaan  is  a  microscopic  village, 
the  houses  scattered  through  a  valley  among 
low  mountains,  all  covered  with  forest.  We  saw 
here  the  Connecticut  for  the  first  time  —  rapid 
and  full  of  rocks  and  foam.  We  follow  its 
banks  to-morrow. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   MARGALLOWAY 

TUESDAY  (2d).  Weather  still  cold  and  bluster 
ing.  Thick  clouds  all  over  the  sky.  Set  out  after 
breakfast  for  the  Connecticut  Lake,  twenty 
miles  distant.  .  .  .  White  seems  to  have  lost  his 
apathy  and  is  now  quite  ready  to  proceed.  Re 
ports  of  the  Margalloway  trout  have  inflamed 
him.  The  road  was  still  hilly,  narrow,  and  great 
part  of  the  way  flanked  by  woods.  The  valley 
of  the  river  looked,  as  it  always  does,  rich  and 
fertile,  but  the  hills  and  mountains  around  pre 
sented  one  broad  unbroken  expanse  of  forest, 
made  the  more  sombre  by  the  deep  shadows  of 
the  clouds.  In  the  afternoon  we  reached  a  hill 
top  and  a  vast  panorama  of  mountains  and  for 
ests  lay  before  us.  A  glistening  spot  of  water, 
some  miles  to  the  north,  girt  with  mountains 
which  sloped  down  to  it  from  all  sides  with  a 
smooth  and  gradual  descent,  was  Lake  Connecti 
cut.  As  far  as  we  could  see,  one  mountain  of 
peculiar  form  rose  above  the  rest  which  we  af 
terward  learned  was  the  Camel's  Hump.  Passing 
a  river  with  rapids  and  a  saw-mill,  at  the  end 
of  the  day  we  reached  the  lake,  where  are  two 
houses,  Barns'  and  Abbot's.  There  are  steep 
rapids  at  the  outlet,  with  a  mill,  of  course.  We 


46  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

went  to  Abbot's  house,  and  asked  for  lodging 
and  a  supper.  .  .  .  Abbot  says  that  one  of  his 
relations,  Kenfield  by  name,  fought  at  William 
Henry,  and,  at  the  massacre,  seeing  an  Indian 
about  to  strip  a  fallen  officer,  caught  him,  raised 
him  in  his  arms,  and  dashed  him  to  the  ground 
with  such  violence  as  to  make  him  senseless. 
Our  host  greatly  exults  in  the  bodily  strength 
for  which  his  family  have  been  eminent  —  he 
himself  noway  dishonors  his  race  in  that  respect. 
Wednesday  (3d).  .  .  .  We  lived  in  backwoods 
style  to-day  —  sugarless  tea  for  dinner  —  water 
drunk  from  a  mug  common  to  all  the  company, 
etc.  We  liked  it  —  I  did,  at  least.  Abbot  sat 
cobbling  his  shoe  against  his  projected  expedition 
towards  evening,  but  as  I  came  up  he  turned 
round  and  remarked  that  he  was  not  a  disciple 
of  St.  Crispin  but  only  an  occasional  follower. 
As  I  was  marveling  at  this  unexpected  display 
of  erudition,  his  wife  thrust  her  head  from  the 
door,  and  exclaimed,  "  Here,  supper 's  ready. 
Where 's  that  other  man  gone  to  ? "  We  ac 
cepted  the  elegant  invitation  and  walked  in, 
where  Abbot  astonished  us  still  more  by  com 
paring  the  democrat  levelers  to  Procrustes,  who 
wished  to  reduce  all  men  to  the  same  dimensions 
by  his  iron  bedstead.  All  this  was  while  he  was 
squatting  on  his  home-made  chair,  one  leg  cocked 
into  the  air,  shirt-sleeves  rolled  up  to  his  elbows, 
bushy  hair  straggling  over  his  eyes,  and  eating 
meanwhile  as  if  his  life  depended  on  his  efforts. 
I  have  since  found  that  he  has  re.ad  a  vast  amount 
of  history,  ancient  and  modern,  and  various  other 
things  —  all  fact,  however,  for  fiction,  he  says,  he 


THE  MARGALLOWAY  47 

cannot  bear.  When  twenty-five  —  he  is  now 
thirty-six  —  he  defended  himself  against  a  good 
lawyer  in  a  court,  and  won  his  case,  his  opponent 
confessing  himself  outmatched  by  Abbot's  gen 
eral  knowledge  and  quick  memory. 

Thursday  (4th).  Started  this  morning  to 
strike  the  Little  Margalloway.  We  proceeded 
first  towards  the  north,  with  a  path  for  the  first 
few  miles.  It  soon  failed  us,  and  we  had  to  force 
our  way  through  tangled  woods.  .  .  .  White  had 
hurt  his  foot  the  day  before  and  constantly  lagged 
behind,  so  that  we  had  to  wait  for  him,  every 
minute  the  prey  of  torturing  flies.  At  length 
the  ascent  of  the  first  mountain  made  the  way 
still  more  laborious.  When  at  length  we  reached 
the  top  we  could  see  nothing  on  account  of  the 
thick  growth  of  trees.  We  passed  through  a 
singular  piece  of  boggy  ground,  of  an  oblong 
shape,  inclosed  in  a  fringe  of  cedars  rising  one 
above  the  other,  all  hung  with  tassels  of  white 
moss.  There  was  another  place,  partially  open, 
near  the  summit.  As  we  passed  it,  a  large  buck 
sprang  from  the  ground,  and  leaped  with  long 
bounds  down  the  mountain,  before  my  rifle  was 
at  my  shoulder.  We  heard  him  crashing  the 
boughs  far  below.  In  this  spot  were  several 
springs  of  cold  water,  in  broad  cup-shaped  hol 
lows  in  the  ground,  which  had  probably  attracted 
the  deer.  We  w,ent  down  the  mountain  and 
found  a  little  stream  flowing  through  the  valley 
at  the  bottom.  Both  Abbot  and  myself  were  for 
proceeding,  but  White  said  he  could  not  go  on 
on  account  of  his  foot ;  so  we  found  a  convenient 
spot  and  encamped.  It  was  by  the  stream,  flow- 


48  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

ing  half  concealed  beneath  brushwood  and  fallen 
trees,  in  a  thick  growth  of  firs,  spruces,  and 
birches.  We  made  a  fire,  and  proceeded  to  cook 
our  supper.  We  had  brought  with  us  seven 
pounds  of  bread,  six  and  a  half  of  rice,  and  a 
quantity  of  butter.  We  had  beside  about  an 
ounce  of  tea,  and  salt,  of  course. 

We  made  our  fire  in  the  middle  of  the  grove, 
cut  spruce  boughs  for  a  bed,  lay  down  on  our 
blankets,  and  with  our  knives  speedily  made  way 
with  a  mess  of  rice  placed  on  a  broad  piece  of 
birch  bark  amongst  us.  Then  we  heaped  new 
wood  on  the  fire,  and  lay  down  again,  cooled  by 
a  gentle  rain  which  just  now  began  to  fall.  The 
fire  blazed  up  a  column  of  bright  flame,  and 
flung  its  light  deep  into  the  recesses  of  the  woods. 
In  the  morning  we  breakfasted  on  rice,  bread, 
and  tea  without  sugar  and  cream,  and  then — 
Friday  —  prepared  to  resume  our  course.  .  .  . 
After  journeying  many  hours  in  this  painful 
style,  we  heard  the  plunging  of  waters  in  a 
valley  below  us,  and  joyfully  turned  towards 
the  sound.  We  had  struck  a  branch  of  the  Little 
Margalloway.  White's  lameness  seemed  mys 
teriously  to  leave  him ;  he  seized  his  fishing 
tackle  and  rushed  up  and  down  the  rocks,  pull 
ing  a  trout  from  every  deep  hole  and  the  foot  of 
every  waterfall.  I  soon  followed  his  example. 
Abbot  built  a  fire  by  the  bank  and  cooked  our 
fish.  We  made  a  plentiful  dinner,  and  then 
began  to  follow  downward  the  course  of  the 
stream.  .  .  . 

Saturday,  Aug.  5th.  The  morning  opened  with 
a  grand  council.  How  were  we  to  get  down  the 


THE   MARGALLOWAY  49 

river?  Abbot  could  make  a  raft,  thought  he 
could  make  a  spruce  canoe,  and  was  certain  that 
he  could  make  a  log  one.  I  told  him  to  make 
a  log  one.  We  roused  White  from  the  spruce 
boughs  where  he  persisted  in  snoring,  in  spite 
of  our  momentous  discussion,  and  then  prepared 
and  ate  our  breakfast.  White  went  to  fishing. 
Abbot  shouldered  his  axe  and  he  and  I  went  off 
together  for  a  suitable  pine-tree  to  make  our 
canoe  of.  He  found  one  to  his  satisfaction  on 
the  other  side  of  the  stream,  some  distance  down. 
I  built  him  a  fire  to  "  smudge  "  the  flies,  waded 
back  across  the  stream,  and  as  I  ascended  the 
farther  bank  heard  the  thundering  crash  of  the 
falling  pine  behind  me,  bellowing  over  the  wil 
derness,  and  rolling  in  echoes  far  up  the  moun 
tains.  .  .  .  As  I  went  back  to  camp,  I  found 
that  Abbot  was  not  at  work  on  his  canoe.  While 
I  was  marveling  at  this  I  stumbled  upon  a  half 
finished  spruce  canoe,  which  Abbot  had  set  about 
making,  having  found  the  pine-tree,  which  he 
had  cut  down  for  his  log  boat,  rotten.  I  was  not 
much  pleased  at  this  change  of  plan ;  neverthe 
less,  as  the  thing  was  begun  I  lent  him  assistance 
as  I  could,  so  that  by  nightfall  we  had  finished 
something  which  had  the  semblance  of  a  canoe, 
but,  owing  chiefly  to  haste  and  want  of  tools, 
had  such  a  precarious  and  doubtful  aspect  that 
White  christened  it  the  Forlorn  Hope.  We  put 
it  into  the  water.  It  leaked.  We  took  it  out  and 
stuffed  the  seams  with  pounded  spruce  bark, 
chewed  spruce  gum,  and  bits  of  cloth.  It  still 
leaked,  but  we  hoped  it  would  do,  with  diligent 
baling ;  so,  fastening  it  to  the  bank,  we  cooked 


60  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

our  supper,  rolled  ourselves  in  our  blankets,  and 
went  to  sleep  before  the  fire. 

Sunday,  Aug.  6th.  We  were  obliged  perforce 
to  adopt  the  sailor's  maxim,  "No  Sunday  off 
soundings,"  for  our  provisions  were  in  a  fair 
way  of  failing,  and  starvation  in  the  wilderness 
is  not  a  pleasant  prospect  to  look  forward  to. 
.  .  .  After  breakfast  we  packed  our  luggage, 
and  proceeded  to  make  the  dubious  experiment 
of  the  canoe.  All  were  embarked  ;  White  in  the 
middle  to  bale,  Abbot  at  the  stern,  I  in  the  prow. 
"  Push  off !  "  the  canoe  glided  with  a  quiet  and 
gentle  motion  down  the  swift  stream,  between 
the  tall  walls  of  forest  on  each  side,  but  soon  the 
ripple  and  tumbling  of  a  rapid  appeared  in  front 
and  the  hour  of  trial  came.  She  quivered  and 
shook  as  she  entered  the  disturbed  waters ;  at 
last  there  was  a  little  grating  sound.  She  had 
struck  upon  the  stones  at  the  bottom,  but  the 
peril  was  past ;  the  water  grew  smooth  and  deep 
again,  and  again  we  floated  quietly  and  prosper 
ously  down  in  the  shadows  of  the  woods.  At 
last  another  rapid  came.  She  entered  it,  grated 
heavily  over  the  stones,  and  struck  hard  against 
a  large  one  before  her.  The  water  spouted  in 
like  a  stream  from  a  pump.  It  would  not  do. 
The  experiment  was  an  utter  failure.  We  left 
Abbot  with  the  canoe  to  conduct  that  and  the 
baggage  as  he  could  down  to  the  basin,  and 
waded  to  shore  ourselves  to  walk  there  through 
the  woods.  We  had  not  gone  quarter  of  a 
mile  when  "  Hello,  here,"  came  from  the  river. 
"What's  the  matter  now?"  shouted  we  in  re 
turn.  "  The  canoe 's  burst  all  to  pieces  !  "  Sure 


THE  MARGALLOWAY  51 

enough,  we  found  it  so.  Abbot  stood  in  the  mid 
dle  of  a  rapid,  up  to  the  knees,  holding  our  bag 
gage  aloft  to  keep  it  dry,  while  the  miserable 
remnant  of  the  demolished  vessel  was  leisurely 
taking  its  way  down  the  current.  We  pushed 
through  the  woods  towards  the  basin,  deliberat 
ing  what  to  do  next.  Abbot  was  sure  he  could 
make  a  raft  which  would  carry  us  down  to  the 
settlements,  and  yet  draw  so  little  water  as  to 
pass  the  "  rips  "  in  safety.  The  navigation  would 
indeed  be  slow  with  such  a  machine,  but  it  could 
be  made  in  an  hour  or  two,  and  this  would  more 
than  counterbalance  the  want  of  speed.  The  river 
was  high ;  the  plan  seemed  eligible,  and  we  pro 
ceeded  to  execute  it.  Meanwhile  it  began  to 
rain  furiously.  We  walked  into  the  water  to  our 
waists  and  held  the  timbers  in  place  while  Abbot 
withed  them  together.  Jerome's  camp  was  de 
molished  to  furnish  materials,  his  setting-poles 
and  birch-bark  vessels  appropriated  to  our  use. 
After  about  two  hours  of  aquatic  exertion,  dur 
ing  which  we  were  wet  equally  by  the  rain  above 
and  the  river  beneath,  the  raft  was  finished. 
Owing  to  the  badness  of  the  timber  it  drew 
twice  as  much  water  as  we  expected.  We  pushed 
from  shore  in  a  deluge  of  rain.  Like  its  luckless 
predecessor,  the  raft  passed  the  first  rapid  in 
safety,  only  venting  a  groan  or  two  as  its  logs 
encountered  the  stones  beneath.  These  rapids 
in  the  main  river  were  of  course  much  deeper 
than  those  of  the  Little  Margalloway,  above  the 
basin,  where  the  canoe  had  met  its  fate.  When 
it  came  on  the  second  rapid,  the  machine  seemed 
to  shiver  in  direful  expectancy  of  its  approach- 


52  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

ing  destruction.  Presently  it  grunted  loud  and 
dolefully.  We  set  our  poles  and  pushed  it  into 
the  deepest  part.  For  a  while  it  bumped  and 
blundered  downward  ;  at  length  there  was  a 
heavy  shock,  a  crash,  a  boiling  and  rushing  of 
many  waters.  The  river  spouted  up  between  the 
logs.  We  were  fixed  irrecoverably  aground.  The 
water  coursed  savagely  by  us,  and  broke  over 
the  end  of  the  raft,  but  it  could  not  be  moved. 
The  result  of  this  second  experiment  was  more 
dismal  than  of  the  first.  We  were  in  the  middle 
of  the  river ;  the  trees  on  both  shores  loomed 
gloomily  through  rain  and  mist,  and  a  volume 
of  boiling  and  roaring  waves  rolled  between. 
However,  there  being  no  remedy,  we  walked  in, 
and,  by  dint  of  considerable  struggling,  waded 
safe  to  the  western  bank,  where  I  directed  Abbot 
to  try  no  more  experiments  but  to  work  on  a 
log  canoe  till  he  had  finished  it.  He  accordingly 
felled  another  tree,  while  we  were,  with  great 
difficulty  on  account  of  the  rain,  building  a  fire. 
Abbot  worked  with  great  perseverance  and  skill. 
Before  night,  his  canoe  was  nearly  hewed  out. 
We  plied  him  with  tea  to  keep  his  spirits  up, 
relieved  him  of  the  cooking  and  all  his  other 
duties,  so  that  his  task  was  accomplished  in  what 
seemed  an  incredibly  short  time.  That  afternoon 
I  went  back  to  the  basin  to  get  fish  for  the  pub 
lic  benefit.  At  night  the  rain,  which  had  ceased 
for  a  while,  began  to  pour  afresh.  We  put  up 
White's  blanket,  which  was  wet,  for  a  tent,  and 
spreading  mine  on  the  ground  beneath,  made  a 
great  fire  before  it,  ate  our  supper,  and  lay  down. 
As  soon  as  we  were  quiet,  the  continual  drop- 


THE  MARGALLOWAY  53 

ping  and  splashing  of  rain  through  the  forest 
had  a  sound  singularly  melancholy  and  impres 
sive.  White  dropped  asleep,  after  his  established 
custom  on  all  occasions,  but  Abbot  and  myself, 
both  of  us  wet  to  the  skin,  chose  to  lie  and  talk 
before  the  fire  till  past  midnight.  Our  guide  is 
a  remarkably  intelligent  fellow,  has  astonishing 
information  for  one  of  his  condition,  is  resolute 
and  as  independent  as  the  wind.  Unluckily,  he 
is  rather  too  conscious  of  his  superiority  in  these 
respects,  and  likes  too  well  to  talk  of  his  own 
achievements.  He  is  coarse  and  matter-of-fact 
to  a  hopeless  extremity,  self-willed,  and  self- 
confident  as  the  devil ;  if  any  one  would  get 
respect  or  attention  from  him,  he  must  meet 
him  on  his  own  ground  in  this  matter.  He  is 
very  talkative.  I  learned  more,  from  his  con 
versation,  about  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
semi-barbarians  he  lives  among,  than  I  could 
have  done  from  a  month's  living  among  them. 
That  night  in  the  rain,  leagues  from  the  dwell 
ings  of  men,  was  a  very  pleasant  one.  We  slept 
a  few  hours  towards  day,  and  rose  before  it  was 
fairly  light,  he  to  finish  the  canoe,  we  to  pre 
pare  breakfast.  We  launched  the  boat  soon 
after,  embarked,  and  paddled  down  stream.  .  .  . 
At  length  we  saw,  on  the  left  bank,  a  camp 
built  of  logs  for  the  use  of  "  loggers."  We  went 
ashore.  The  place  was  dry,  the  roof  being  slant 
and  thatched  waterproof,  with  a  hole  at  one  side 
to  let  out  the  smoke  of  the  fire.  .  .  .  Fortunately, 
I  had  secured  my  matches  in  a  tin  case,  and  this 
in  my  waterproof  knapsack,  so  that  we  were 
able  to  build  a  fire  with  the  aid  of  some  dry 


64  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

birch  bark  we  found  in  the  hut.  .  .  .  Hanging 
our  superfluous  clothing  to  dry,  we  laid  down  in 
the  rest  and  slept  comfortably  all  night. 

Tuesday,  Aug.  8th.  [After  a  hard  paddle  and 
a  long  tramp  they  reached  Brag's.] 

Wednesday,  Aug.  9th.  Left  Brag's  this  morn 
ing  to  walk  to  Colebrook.  I  had  to  carry  about 
thirty  pounds  weight,  including  my  blanket,  which 
having  covered  White's  shoulders  through  all  the 
storms  of  yesterday,  had  become  saturated  with 
moisture,  and  was  about  as  heavy  when  rolled 
up  as  a  log  of  hard  wood.  Abbot  carried  his  for 
him.  The  day  was  overcast  and  showery.  When 
we  had  got  about  six  miles,  we  overtook  an  old 
fellow  in  a  wagon,  who  was  jolting  along  over 
stones,  logs,  gullies,  and  all  other  impediments, 
towards  Colebrook.  White  got  in  with  him  and 
rode  the  rest  of  the  way,  Abbot  and  I  going  on 
together,  first  committing  the  baggage  to  his 
care,  except  my  knapsack,  which  I  chose  to  keep 
with  me.  .  .  . 

Thursday,  Aug.  10th.  Stayed  at  Colebrook  to 
day,  for  want  of  means  to  get  off.  In  the  villain 
ous  little  hole  of  a  tavern  there,  there  is  never 
anything  stirring  to  break  the  dismal  monotony. 
Every  day  is  a  Sunday.  .  .  . 

Friday,  Aug.  llth.  The  stage  came  by  this 
morning  from  Canaan.  It  is  called  a  stage,  but 
is  in  reality  a  milk-cart.  We  got  in.  At  noon  we 
reached  Lancaster,  where  White  stopped,  being 
reduced  to  his  last  quarter  of  a  dollar,  to  see  his 
uncle  and  borrow  the  needful  of  him.  I  kept  on 
to  Littleton,  where  I  now  am. 

Saturday,  Aug.  12th.  Started  for  home  by  way 


THE  MARGALLOWAY  55 

of  Ply  mouth.  .  .  .  With  an  accommodating  driver 
and  a  pleasant  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  — 
one  of  the  former  exceedingly  handsome,  roman 
tic,  and  spirited  —  we  rode  on  towards  Plymouth, 
and  got  there  late  at  night.  There  was  a  gen 
eral  on  board, —  a  man  of  exalted  character  and 
vast  political  influence  which  he  exercised  on  the 
righteous  side  of  radical  democracy,  fiercely  main 
taining  that  ninepence  was  better  than  a  million 
dollars,  insomuch  that  the  possessor  of  the  first 
is  invariably  a  good  man  and  contented  with  his 
lot,  while  the  owner  of  the  last  is  always  a  grasp 
ing,  avaricious  child  of  the  devil.  When  the  gen 
eral  alighted  at  his  own  tavern  he  saluted  the 
first  loafer  who  met  him  at  the  door  as  "Major," 
the  next  but  one  was  "  Colonel,"  while  our  driver 
answered  to  the  title  of  "  Captain." 

Not  long  after  his  return  home  the  autumn 
term  of  his  junior  year  began. 


CHAPTER  VII 

TRAVELS 

IN  the  winter  of  his  junior  year  Frank  made  a 
visit  to  the  village  of  Keene,  New  Hampshire, 
where  his  classmates  lived  —  George  S.  Hale, 
destined  to  an  honorable  position  at  the  Boston 
bar,  and  Horatio  J.  Perry,  subsequently  first 
secretary  to  our  legation  at  Madrid.  Here  he 
followed  deer-tracks,  which  lent  a  great  interest 
to  the  snow-covered  ground  even  without  sight 
or  smell  of  buck  or  doe,  and  here  he  forgot  the 
ill  success  of  the  chase  in  the  company  of  some 
attractive  girls,  of  whom  his  friends  often  make 
mysterious  mention  in  their  invitations  to  him, 
—  "  There  are  some  here  who  would  not  be  dis 
pleased  at  your  coming." 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  that  girls  liked  him. 
He  was  a  tall  lad,  near  six  feet,  of  strong  build, 
straight  legs,  and  soldierly  carriage.  His  face 
was  brave,  open,  and  sunny,  full  of  trustfulness 
and  manhood,  his  brow  broad  and  intelligent, 
his  thick  brown  hair,  parted  at  the  side,  curled 
a  little  where  it  was  brushed  back  over  the  ears  ; 
his  nose  was  masculine  but  delicate,  his  mouth 


TRAVELS  57 

good,  and  his  chin  the  emblem  of  fortitude. 
The  garb  of  the  period  became  him,  —  the 
swallow-tail  coat  with  big  round  buttons,  rolling 
away  to  show  the  white  waistcoat  and  shirt- 
front,  a  bandanna  or  plaid  cravat  swathed  round 
the  neck,  reminiscent  of  the  stock,  and  knotted 
sparkishly  under  the  chin.  Boyish  convictions, 
flashes  of  vehemence,  good  humor,  and  good 
manners,  made  his  conversation  acceptable,  even 
to  persons  who  were  indifferent  to  the  "flourish 
set  on  youth." 

The  most  important  and  the  most  unfortunate 
event  of  his  junior  year,  however,  was  not  the 
society  of  young  women  but  the  building  of  the 
first  gymnasium  at  Harvard.  Frank  set  to  work 
with  his  usual  "  pernicious  intensity,"  in  order 
to  cram  into  six  months  the  swelling  muscles 
that  should  have  been  acquired  in  as  many  years, 
and  strained  himself;  and,  in  consequence  of 
this  strain,  or  perhaps  from  general  ill-health, 
that  summer  he  forebore  a  journey  into  the 
woods  and  contented  himself  with  a  tour  by 
Lake  George,  Montreal,  Quebec,  and  the  White 
Mountains  in  search  of  historical  information. 
His  little  pocket  diary  shows  his  methods :  - 

GILES  F.  YATES,  ESQ.,  SCHNECTADY. 

"The  best  of  Am.  Antiquarians"  -that  is, 
with  an  extensive  knowledge  of  the  colonial  hist, 
of  N.  Y. 


58  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Rev.  Mr.  Williams,  Schenectady. 

Kerney  —  Clergyman,  Clermont,  Columbia 
County,  N.  Y.  A  grand-nephew  of  Sir  W. 
Johnson.  

The  Germans  of  the  Mohawk  know  much  of 
Sir  William  and  family. 

The  gent,  who  told  me  the  preceding  told  me 
also  what  follows.  He  was  a  man  of  most  ex 
tensive  and  minute  information  on  similar  topics. 
His  ancestor's  house,  together  with  one  other, 
were  all  that  escaped  the  Schnectady  burning 
[Count  Frontenac,  etc.,  pp.  212,  etc.]  —  for  this 
reason.  His  ancestor,  an  old  Dutchman,  saved 
a  Jesuit  priest  whom  the  Mohawks  were  about 
to  burn  at  their  "  burning  place  "  near  Schenec 
tady.  The  priest  was  secretly  packed  in  a  hogs 
head,  boated  down  to  Albany,  and  thence  sent 
home  to  Canada.  The  old  man  accounted  to  the 
Mohawks  for  his  escape  by  the  priest's  omni 
potent  art  magic.  This  priest  accompanied  the 
war  party  and  protected  the  house. 

The  grandfather-iii-law  of  this  gent,  was  saved 
when  at  the  stake  by  Grant.  He  made  the  ma 
sonic  sign,  Grant  was  a  Mason  and  so  interfered. 

Lake  George.  On  a  little  hill  by  a  pine-tree, 
near  Ft.  George,  I  saw  a  flat  rough  stone  with 
an  inscription  as  follows :  u  1776.  Here  lies 
Stephen  Hedges,"  and  more  unreadable.  Close 
by,  on  a  fresh  ploughed  [field]  a  boy  with  me 
found  a  buckshot  and  a  coin  about  the  size  of  a 
50  ct.  piece.  I  myself  picked  up  a  musket  ball 
and  a  copper  coin. 


TRAVELS  59 

Montreal  —  Friday.  Visited  the  nunnery  of 
the  Sceurs  Grises,  Hospital  for  invalids,  School 
for  children.  Patients  hideous  to  look  upon  — 
nuns  worse.  Building  of  the  same  rough  gray 
stone  generally  used  here.  .  .  .  Two  regiments 
are  in  town  —  71st  Highlanders  and  the  89.  A 
part  of  the  43rd  are  on  the  island  a  short  way 
off.  ... 

44  Hope  Gate."  Quebec  is  defended  some 
thing  in  this  manner  :  [Here  follows  a  diagram 
lettered]  G  —  gate,  B  blockhouse,  stone  below, 
with  loops  for  musketry  —  wood  above,  and 
portholes  for  two  cannon  commanding  the  street 
S,  which  is  a  precipiece  on  one  side,  a  a  a  loops 
all  along  the  wall,  c  two  more  guns  on  the  wall, 
also  commanding  the  street.  .  .  . 

44  Emily  Montague,"  a  novel  to  be  read  forth 
with.  Butler  —  Jesuits. 


[The  traveler  then  went  to  Crawford's,  and 
to  Franconia  Notch.] 

M.  S.  Wars  of  Canada — C.  F.  Hoffman  knows. 


Hoffman's  "  Wild  Scenes  in  Forest  and  Prai 
rie,"  "  Winter  in  the  West,"  etc. 

From  Senter  Harbor  to  Fryeburg,  spent  Sun 
day  and  visited  the  Pond.  Paugus's  gun,  so 
called,  is  shown  at  the  Academy.  [Half  Century 
of  Conflict,  vol.  i.  p.  258.].  .  .  Stayed  a  day 
or  two  and  rode  on  to  Ethan's  to  spend  the 
night.  Mrs.  C.  soon  produced  her  history  of  her 


60  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

husband's  adventures,  etc.  —  a  manuscript  which 
she  means  to  publish.  .  .  . 

"  Captivity  of  Mrs.  Johnson,"  Windsor,  Vt., 

1807.  

A  book  worth  getting,  "  Frontier  Life  in  '44," 
etc.  .  .  . 

Robert  Southey  had  in  his  possession  the 
whole  of  Wolfe's  correspondence. 

Went  over  to  see  the  Indians.  .  .  .  Saw 
Francois  and  others,  —  some  squaws  extremely 
good-looking  with  their  clubbed  hair  [?]  and 
red  leggings.  .  .  .  The  Indians  use  the  genuine 
wampum.  .  .  .  There  are  a  number  of  loggers 
in  their  red  shirts  seated  in  the  bar  ;  some  of 
them  have  been,  to  see  "  the  Lord's  Supper." 
One  expressed  his  disapprobation  of  the  charac 
ter  of  the  exhibition  as  follows  :  "  G — d  d — 11  it, 
I  should  like  to  take  that  fellow  by  the  nape  of 
the  neck,  and  pitch  him  into  the  road.  He 's  no 
right  to  serve  that  'ere  up  for  a  show  in  that 
way." 

Bought  some  wampum  of  F.'s  squaw  which  he 
says  he  bought  from  the  Caughnawagas  near 
Montreal  25  years  ago.  It  is,  however,  some 
times  made  by  the  whites  in  Canada. 

Frank  picked  up  some  bloody  yarns  from  the 
Indians,  and  discontinued  his  diary.  The  last 
entry  is,  "  Saturday  night,  had  no  supper." 

That  summer  there  was  another  visit  to  Keene, 
and  the  plan  at  least  of  a  visit  to  his  classmate 
Snow  at  Fitchburg  ;  the  visit  had  to  be  deferred 
on  account  of  the  illness  of  Snow's  father. 


TRAVELS  61 

SNOW   TO    FRANK. 

FITCHBURG,  Tuesday  [1843]. 

MY  DEAR  FRANK,  —  ...  A  hard  thing  it  is 
for  me,  my  friend,  to  have  your  visit  delayed 
even  for  a  week.  I  had  famous  anticipations  of 
the  glorious  times  I  should  have  with  you.  And 
mother  had  no  less  agreeably  anticipated  your 
visit,  and  had  baked  twenty  most  unexception 
able  mince  pies,  each  one  of  which  I  should  ven 
ture  to  pit  against  that  famous  one  of  your  sis 
ter's,  nice  as  it  was.  However,  they  will  keep  till 
you  come  back.  —  Now  I  stipulate  most  firmly 
that  you  make  me  the  visit  when  you  have  finished 
your  sojourn  in  the  enchanted  land  [Keene],  and 
if  you  don't,  I  shall  have  terrible  suspicions  that 
"your  gorge  has  risen"  at  the  delay.  I  also 
stipulate  you  use  your  influence  to  get  Hale 
to  accompany  you,  and  I  will  entertain  both  as 
far  as  my  capabilities  will  admit. 

Yrs  in  great  haste, 

CHAS.  A.  B.  SNOW. 

Thus  passed  winter  and  summer  in  that  happy 
time  when  a  buckshot  on  a  historic  field,  yes 
terday's  rabbit-tracks  in  the  soft  fallen  snow, 
twenty  unexceptionable  mince  pies,  and  the  ran 
dom  glance  from  a  pair  of  eyes,  indifferent  black, 
will  convert  much  poorer  material  than  a  New 
England  village  into  an  enchanted  land.  The 
holidays  passed,  as  holidays  will,  hopping,  skip 
ping,  jumping ;  but  when  college  opened  its  lec 
ture  rooms,  Frank  found  himself  not  well  enough 


62  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

to  take  up  college  life,  and  it  was  decided  to 
send  him  to  Europe.  He  started  on  a  dull  No 
vember  day ;  he  was  not  well,  the  ship  was  a 
little  craft,  his  fond  mother  and  his  little  sisters 
were  very  unhappy  to  part  with  him,  so  there 
was  very  little  cheer  that  day,  but  Frank  was 
not  daunted,  and  went  off,  no  doubt,  with  boyish 
smiles  on  his  face  and  boyish  tears  in  his  heart. 
He  kept  a  long  diary,  —  for  he  would  not  inter 
mit  his  training  in  rhetoric,  —  from  which  I  take 
the  following  pages :  — 

BARQUE  NAUTILUS,  November  16th,  '43. 
(Devil  of  a  sea  —  cabin  dark  as  Hades.) 

Got  under  weigh  from  Central  Wharf  about 
10  A.  M.  of  Sunday,  Dec.  12th  [November  12] 
—  fine  weather,  and  a  noble  west  wind.  .  .  . 
Before  long  we  were  pitched  up  and  down  on  an 
execrable  swell  —  the  fruit  of  yesterday's  east 
wind.  The  barque  tossed  about  like  a  cork, 
snorted,  spouted  the  spray  all  over  her  deck, 
and  went  rushing  along  like  mad  in  a  great 
caldron  of  foam  she  raised  about  her.  At  the 
same  time  it  grew  cloudy,  and  the  wind  became 
stronger.  The  sea  rose  and  fell  in  great  masses, 
green  as  grass,  the  wind  driving  the  spray  in 
clouds  from  their  white  tops.  As  I  came  from 
the  cabin,  I  beheld  to  my  great  admiration  a 
huge  wall  of  water  piled  up  in  front,  into  which 
the  vessel  was  apparently  driving  her  bows  ;  a 
moment  more,  and  the  case  was  reversed  —  her 
bowsprit  and  half  her  length  rose  straight  from 


TRAVELS  63 

the  waters  and  stood  relieved  against  the  sky. 
In  consequence  of  which  state  of  things  I,  like  a 
true  greenhorn,  grew  seasick  by  the  time  we 
were  fairly  out  of  sight  of  land.  Accordingly  I 
got  into  my  berth  as  soon  as  it  was  dark,  and 
stayed  there  twelve  hours. 

When  I  came  on  deck  in  the  morning,  the 
weather  had  changed  nowise  for  the  better.  I 
wrapped  myself  in  my  cloak,  and  sprawling  on 
the  poop-deck  read  the  "  Bible  in  Spain."  A 
schooner,  with  only  topsails  set,  went  scouring 
past  us,  before  the  wind,  homeward  bound  — 
also,  in  the  afternoon,  a  brig,  tossing  so  that  her 
keel  was  almost  visible.  A  troop  of  porpoises 
went  tumbling  about  us,  and  I  ransacked  the 
vessel  in  vain  for  a  musket  to  get  a  shot  at  them. 

The  next  morning  opened  under  direful  aus 
pices.  I  came  on  deck,  disconsolate  with  sea 
sickness,  when  I  was  straightway  saluted  by 
about  two  hogsheads  of  water  which  came  dash 
ing  over  the  gunnel,  accommodating  me  with  a 
most  unwelcome  morning  shower-bath.  ...  I 
spent  most  of  the  morning  in  my  berth,  reason 
ably  miserable  with  seasickness  —  cogitating, 
meanwhile,  on  things  human  and  divine,  past, 
present,  and  to  come.  When  dinner-time  came, 
I  heard  the  captain's  invitation  to  dinner,  and 
staggered  to  the  cabin  door,  determined  to  accept 
it,  in  spite  of  fate,  when  lo !  the  ship  gave  a 
lurch,  the  plates  and  the  rack  which  should  have 
secured  them  slid  together  from  the  table,. in  a 
general  ruin,  to  the  floor.  .  .  .  We  have  a  sin 
gular  company  on  board — the  three  officers,  "the 
passenger,"  the  steward,  and  six  men,  viz. :  a 


64  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Yankee,  a  Portuguese,  a  Dane,  an  Englishman,  a 
Prussian,  and  an  old  gray-haired  Dutchman,  the 
best  sailor  in  the  ship.  Of  the  officers,  the  cap 
tain  is  a  sensible  gentlemanly  man  ;  the  mate  has 
rather  more  individuality,  being,  as  to  his  outer 
man,  excessively  tall,  narrow-shouldered,  spindle- 
shanked,  and  lantern-jawed,  with  a  complexion 
like  dirty  parchment.  Mr.  Jonathan  Snow  is 
from  Cape  Cod,  a  man  of  the  sea  from  his  youth 
up.  When  I  first  came  on  board  he  was  evidently 
inclined  to  regard  me  with  some  dislike,  as  being 
rich(l)  He  constantly  sighs  forth  a  wish  that  he 
had  five  thousand  dollars  "  then  ketch  me  going 
to  sea  again,  that 's  all."  He  is  rather  given  to 
polemic  controversies,  of  which  I  have  held  sev 
eral  with  him,  on  the  tenets  of  sophists,  Unita 
rians,  Universalists,  Christians,  etc.,  etc.  Of 
course,  he  imagines  that  men  of  his  rank  in  life 
labor  under  all  sorts  of  oppressions  and  injustice 
at  the  hands  of  the  rich.  Harvard  College  he 
regards  with  peculiar  jealousy,  as  a  nurse  of  aris 
tocracy.  "  Ah !  riches  carry  the  day  there,  I 
guess.  It's  a  hard  thing  to  see  merit  crushed 
down,  just  for  want  of  a  thousand  dollars." 

Mr.  Hansen,  second  mate,  is  the  stoutest  man 
on  board,  and  has  seen  most  service,  but  being, 
as  Mr.  Snow  remarks,  a  man  of  no  education,  he 
has  not  risen  very  high  in  the  service.  He  ac 
companied  Wyeth's  trapping  party  to  the  Rocky 
Mts.,  where  he  was  more  than  once  nearly  starved 
and  within  a  hair's  breadth  of  being  shot.  He 
speaks  with  great  contempt  of  Indians,  but  not 
with  quite  so  much  virulence  as  I  have  known 
from  some  others  of  his  stamp.  He  plumes  him- 


TRAVELS  65 

self  on  having  killed  two  or  three.  "  Oh,  damn 
it,  I  'd  shoot  an  Indian  quicker  than  I  'd  shoot  a 
dog."  He  is  now  seated  at  supper,  amusing  me 
and  himself  with  some  such  discourse  as  fol 
lows  :  — 

"  I  've  lost  all  my  appetite,  —  and  got  a  horse's. 
Here,  steward,  you  nigger,  where  be  yer  —  fetch 
along  that  beef-steak.  What  do  you  call  this 
here  ?  Well,  never  mind  what  it  be  ;  it  goes  down 
damned  well,  anyhow."  Here  he  sat  stuffing  a 
minute  or  two  in  silence,  with  his  grizzly  whis 
kers  close  to  the  table,  rolling  his  eyes,  and  puffing 
out  his  ruddy  cheeks.  At  last  pausing,  and  lay 
ing  down  his  knife  a  moment ! 

"  I  've  knowed  the  time  when  I  could  have  ate 
a  Blackfoot  Indian,  bones  and  all,  and  could  n't 
get  a  mouthful,  noway  you  could  fix  it."  Then 
resuming  his  labors  —  "I  tell  you  what,  this 
here  agrees  with  me.  It 's  better  than  doctor  stuff. 
Some  folks  are  always  running  after  the  doctors, 
and  getting  sick.  Eat!  that's  the  way  I  do. 
Well,  doctoring  is  a  good  thing,  just  like  religion 
—  to  them  that  likes  it ;  but  damn  the  doctors 
for  all  me  ;  I  shan't  die,"  etc.,  etc. 

By  treating  Mr.  Hansen  with  brandy  and 
water,  I  have  got  on  very  good  terms  with  him, 
and  made  him  very  communicative  on  the  sub 
ject  of  his  Oregon  experiences.  Would  that  we 
had  a  consumptive  minister,  with  his  notions  of 
peace,  philanthropy,  Christian  forgiveness,  and 
so  forth,  on  board  with  us  !  It  would  be  sport  of 
the  first  water  to  set  Mr.  Hansen  talking  at  him, 
and  see  with  what  grace  the  holy  man  would  lis 
ten  to  his  backwoods  ideas  of  retributive  justice 


66  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

and  a  proper  organization  of  society.  "  Shoot 
him  over,  and  that  damn  quick,  too,"  is  Mr. 
Hansen's  penalty  for  all  serious  offenses.  .  .  . 
As  soon  as  it  was  daybreak  I  went  on  deck. 
Two  or  three  sails  were  set,  the  vessel  scouring 
along,  leaning  over  so  that  her  lee  gunnel  scooped 
up  the  water  ;  the  water  in  a  foam,  and  clouds 
of  spray  flying  over  us,  frequently  as  high  as  the 
main  yard.  The  spray  was  driven  with  such  force 
that  it  pricked  the  cheek  like  needles.  I  stayed 
on  deck  two  or  three  hours  ;  when,  being  thor 
oughly  salted,  I  went  down,  changed  my  clothes, 
and  read  Don  Quixote  till  Mr.  Snow  appeared  at 
the  door  with,  "  You  're  the  man  that  wants  to 
see  a  gale  of  wind,  are  ye  ?  Now  's  your  chance  ; 
only  just  come  up  on  deck."  Accordingly  I  went. 
The  wind  was  yelling  and  howling  in  the  rig 
ging  in  a  fashion  that  reminded  me  of  a  storm 
in  a  Canada  forest.  The  ship  was  hove  to.  One 
small  rag  of  a  topsail  set  to  keep  her  steady  — 
all  the  rest  was  bare  poles  and  black  wet  cord 
age.  I  got  hold  of  a  rope  by  the  mizzen  mast, 
and  looked  about  on  a  scene  that  it  would  be 
perfect  folly  to  attempt  to  describe  —  though 
nothing  more,  I  suppose,  than  an  ordinary  gale 
•  of  wind.  .  .  . 

Friday.  As  yesterday  was  Thanksgiving,  I 
may  as  well  record  how  we  fared.  Our  breakfast 
was  utterly  demolished  by  the  same  catastrophe 
that  overtook  a  former  repast,  that,  namely,  of 
being  dashed  in  ruins  upon  the  floor  by  an  ill- 
timed  lurch  of  the  ship.  We  dined  on  a  lump 
of  ham,  Cuffee  being  unable  to  purvey  a  more 
sumptuous  banquet,  because  the  seas  put  out  the 


TRAVELS  67 

fire  in  his  galley  as  fast  as  he  kindled  it.  As  for 
our  supper,  it  was  of  bread,  pork,  and  onions. 
Not  that  this  is  a  fair  sample  of  our  bills  of  fare, 
which  are  usually  quite  as  luxurious  as  any  rea 
sonable  man  need  desire.  .  .  . 

Wednesday,  Dec.  6th.  We  have  been  tor 
mented  for  ten  days  past  with  a  series  of  accursed 
head  winds.  Here  we  are,  within  thirty-six  hours' 
sail  of  Gibraltar,  standing  alternately  north 
and  south,  with  no  prospect  of  seeing  land  for 
many  days.  The  captain  is  half  mad,  and  walks 
about  swearing  to  himself  in  an  undertone.  Mr. 
Snow's  philosophy  has  given  way  —  and  I  never 
had  any.  Han  sen  alone  is  perfectly  indifferent. 
He  sits  on  deck  whistling  and  talking  over  his 
work,  without  troubling  himself  about  our  where 
abouts,  or  caring  whether  we  are  in  the  North 
Sea  or  at  Cape  Horn. 

Thursday,  Dec.  7th. 

"  Day  after  day,  day  after  day, 
We  stuck,  nor  breath  nor  motion ; 
As  idle  as  a  painted  ship 
Upon  a  painted  ocean." 

This  has  been  our  enviable  position  to-day.  A 
dead  calm  —  a  stupid  flapping  of  sails  and  creak 
ing  of  masts. 

Saturday.  Again  a  calm !  The  captain's  signs 
and  portents  have  come  to  nought.  A  turtle 
came  up  at  the  ship's  side  to  sleep  on  the  quiet 
surface,  but  prudently  sunk  back  to  the  depths 
just  as  Mr.  Hansen  was  lowering  me  by  a  rope 
to  take  him  prisoner.  A  few  bonitos  splashed 
about  the  bow,  some  "  rudder  fish  "  played  along 
side  ;  and  a  pair  of  "  garfish "  glided  about  in 


68  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

defiance  of  all  attempts  to  capture  them.  Before 
noon  a  breeze  —  a  favorable  one  —  sprang  up  ! 
It  bore  us  on  a  hundred  miles  farther,  but  now 
has  subsided  into  the  old  trebly  accursed  calm. 

Tuesday.  A  light  wind  to-day  but  dead  ahead. 
More  porpoises  and  more  fruitless  attempts  at 
harpooning,  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Snow.  I  am 
rapidly  growing  insane.  My  chief  resource  is  the 
conversation  of  Mr.  Hansen,  who  has  humor,  vol 
ubility,  much  good  feeling,  and  too  much  coarse 
rough  manhood  in  his  nature  to  be  often  offen 
sive  in  his  speech.  Moreover,  one  man  may  say 
a  thing  with  a  very  good  grace  that  would  be 
insufferable  from  the  mouth  of  another.  Witti 
cisms  and  stories  which,  uttered  by  Snow,  would 
make  me  turn  my  back  on  the  fellow  with  con 
tempt  and  disgust,  sound  well  enough  in  the 
frank  and  bold  accents  of  Hansen. 

Evening.  We  have  beat  up  against  the  wind 
into  full  view  of  the  Spanish  coast.  Right  and 
left,  from  Trafalgar  far  beyond  Cadiz,  the  line 
of  rugged  and  steep  bluffs  reaches,  with  here  and 
there  a  tower  just  visible  with  the  glass.  But 
about  noon  our  evil  genius  becalmed  us  again ! 

Thirty  days  from  Boston.  Old  Worthington 
promised  that  I  should  see  Gibraltar  in  eighteen, 
but  he  is  a  deacon. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

EUKOPE 

WEDNESDAY  evening.  We  have  not  yet  reached 
Tarifa.  Dozens  of  vessels  come  past  us  from 
Gibraltar,  some  of  them  of  a  most  outlandish 
aspect  to  my  eye. 

Thursday.  More  delay  and  vexation.  The 
captain  has  not  slept  for  two  nights,  and  is  half 
worn  out  by  fatigue  and  anxiety.  For  myself,  I 
was  so  exasperated  by  our  continued  ill  fortune 
that  I  could  not  stay  below.  We  passed  Tarifa 
light  about  midnight  —  then  were  driven  back 
four  miles  by  a  rain  squall.  But  by  nine  in  the 
morning  we  had  fairly  entered  Gibraltar  Bay  ! 

[Gibraltar.]  Saturday.  Yesterday  I  came 
ashore  in  the  barque's  boat,  landed,  got  passport 
signed  and  established  myself  at  the  "King's 
Arms." 

I  dined  at  the  consul's  and  spent  the  day  in 
exploring  this  singular  city  —  the  world  in  epit 
ome.  More  of  it  in  future.  This  morning  I  set 
out,  in  company  with  a  midshipman,  the  son  of 
Captain  Newton  of  the  Missouri,  to  ride  round 
the  Bay  to  the  Spanish  town  of  Algeciras. 

Sunday.  .  .  .  Sunday  is  the  day  to  see  the 
motley  population  of  Gibraltar  at  one  glance. 
Just  without  the  walls  is  a  parade  large  enough 


70  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

to  hold  the  six  regiments  stationed  here.  This 
evening,  according  to  custom,  everybody  was 
thronging  up  there.  I  established  myself  at  the 
foot  of  a  bronze  statue  of  the  defender  of  Gi 
braltar  —  I  forget  his  name,  General  Eliot  — 
but  there  he  stands  towering  above  the  trees  and 
aloes  at  the  summit  of  a  hill  above  the  parade, 
wilh  the  emblematic  key  in  his  hand,  and  with 
a  huge  cannon  and  a  mortar  on  each  side  of 
him.  Here  I  had  a  specimen  of  every  nation  on 
earth,  it  seemed,  around  me.  A  dozen  Moors 
with  white  turbans  and  slippered  feet  lolled  one 
side  ;  Jews  by  couples  in  their  gaberdines ;  the 
Spanish  gentleman  in  his  black  cloak  and  som 
brero  —  the  Spanish  laborer  with  his  red  cap 
hanging  on  one  side  of  his  head  —  the  Spanish 
blackguard  in  bespangled  tights  and  embroi 
dered  jacket.  On  benches  among  the  trees  of 
ficers  and  soldiers  carried  on  successful  love 
suits  ;  on  the  parade  below  English  captains  were 
showing  forth  good  horsemanship  to  the  best 
advantage.  The  red  coats  of  soldiers  appeared 
everywhere  among  the  trees  and  in  the  crowd 
below.  There  were  women  in  cloaks  of  red  and 
black,  ladies  with  the  mantilla  and  followed  by 
the  duenna,  —  no  needless  precaution,  —  and  ten 
thousand  more,  soldier  and  civilian,  bond  and 
free,  man  and  woman  and  child.  Not  the  least 
singular  of  the  group  were  the  little  black  slaves 
belonging  to  the  Moors,  who  were  arrayed  in  a 
very  splendid  and  outlandish  attire,  following 
after  their  masters  like  dogs.  Bands  were 
stationed  on  the  parade  and  around  a  summer- 
house  among  the  trees.  The  evening  gun  dis- 


EUROPE  71 

solved  the  pageant  —  God  save  the  Queen  rose 
on  the  air ;  then  the  crowd  poured  through  the 
gates  into  the  town. 

I  went  to  a  diminutive  theatre  in  the  evening, 
to  see  a  play  performed  by  the  privates  of  an 
artillery  company.  .  .  . 

A  "  rock  scorpion  "  carried  me  off  to  the  fri 
gates  in  the  harbor,  English  and  American.  The 
reptile  in  question  was  a  mixture  of  Genoese  and 
French  blood  —  spoke  both  languages  fluently, 
besides  English  and  half  a  score  of  others.  .  .  . 

Sunday,  Dec.  — .  Got  tired  of  Gibraltar  — 
heard  of  a  government  steamer  about  to  sail  for 
Malta  —  embarked  on  her,  abandoning  my  pre 
vious  design  of  penetrating  Spain  immediately. 
...  I  was  prepared  for  no  very  agreeable  pas 
sage,  knowing  the  hauteur  approaching  to  inso 
lence  of  a  certain  class  of  English  naval  officers, 
and  was  surprised  as  well  as  gratified  by  the 
polite  attentions  of  Lt.  Spark,  the  commander 
of  the  boat,  with  whom  I  spent  about  half  the 
night  in  conversation.  Unfortunately  I  am  the 
only  passenger.  Lt.  Spark  seems  resolved  that 
my  voyage  shall  be  agreeable  notwithstanding  — 
certainly,  he  spares  no  pains  for  my  accommo 
dation,  opening  his  library  to  me,  producing  an 
endless  variety  of  wines,  doing  all  he  can,  in 
short,  to  promote  my  enjoyment. 

We  have  passed  Cape  de  Got  and  the  Sierra 
Nevada,  which  looks  down  on  the  city  of  Gra 
nada.  The  coast  of  Barbary  is  now  in  full  sight. 
To-day  the  old  man  mustered  his  sailors  and 
marines  in  the  cabin  —  a  large  and  elegant  one 
—  and  read  the  service  of  the  Church,  not  for- 


72  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

getting  a  special  prayer  for  the  British  Navy, 
arid  the  success  of  the  British  arms.  He  knew 
Sir  John  Moore,  Sir  P.  Parker,  and  other  he 
roes  of  those  days,  has  shaken  hands  with 
Blucher,  has  fought  the  French  by  sea  and  land. 
Beside  his  manifold  experiences  in  active  life, 
he  has  been  a  great  reader,  not  only  of  English 
works  but  of  all  the  eminent  American  authors. 
.  .  .  Here  in  this  old  world  I  seem,  thank 
Heaven,  to  be  carried  about  half  a  century  back 
wards  in  time.  As  far  as  religion  is  concerned, 
there  are  the  ceremonies  of  the  Catholic  church 
and  the  English  litany,  with  rough  soldiers  and 
sailors  making  the  responses.  A  becoming  hor 
ror  of  dissenters,  especially  Unitarians,  prevails 
everywhere.  No  one  cants  here  of  the  temper 
ance  reform,  or  of  systems  of  diet  —  eat,  drink, 
and  be  merry  is  the  motto  everywhere,  and  a 
stronger  and  hardier  race  of  men  than  those 
round  me  now  never  laughed  at  the  doctors. 
Above  all,  there  is  no  canting  of  peace.  A  whole 
some  system  of  coercion  is  manifest  in  all  direc 
tions  —  thirty-two  pounders  looking  over  the 
bows,  piles  of  balls  on  deck,  muskets  and  cut 
lasses  hung  up  below,  the  red  jackets  of  marines, 
and  the  honest  prayer  that  success  should  crown 
all  these  warlike  preparations,  yesterday  re 
sponded  to  by  fifty  voices.  There  was  none  of 
the  new-fangled  suspicion  that  such  belligerent 
petition  might  be  averse  to  the  spirit  of  a  reli 
gion  that  inculcates  peace  as  its  foundation. 
And  I  firmly  believe  that  there  was  as  much 
hearty  faith  and  worship  in  many  of  those  men 
as  in  any  feeble  consumptive  wretch  at  home, 


EUROPE  73 

who,  when  smitten  on  one  cheek,  literally  turns 
the  other  likewise,  instead  of  manfully  kicking 
the  offender  into  the  gutter. 

Thursday.  After  a  passage  of  about  five  days 
we  reached  Malta. 

Friday.  Late  last  evening  I  made  an  attempt 
to  see  the  Church  of  St.  John.  It  was  closed. 
My  servant  pommeled  the  oaken  door  in  vain. 
He  then  proceeded  to  sundry  coffee-houses  in 
the  neighborhood,  hoping  to  find  the  man  who 
had  the  doors  in  charge.  Three  or  four  Maltese, 
all  jabbering  their  bastard  Arabic,  soon  aided 
in  the  search.  At  length  the  great  bell  began 
to  roar  from  the  church  tower,  an  unequivocal 
evidence  that  somebody  was  there.  "  Gulielmo, 
Gulielmo !  "  roared  my  troop  of  assistants.  After 
a  lapse  of  five  minutes  Gulielmo  descended  and 
issued  from  a  portal  among  the  columns  at  one 
side,  summoning  me  in.  ...  [Here  he  describes 
the  church.]  Leaving  reluctantly  the  church 
where  so  many  brave  men  had  kneeled  to  God 
for  his  blessing  on  their  matchless  enterprises, 
I  got  into  a  boat,  and  was  put  on  board  the  Nea 
politan  steamer  Francesco  Primo,  bound  for 
Messina,  where  I  lay  an  hour  or  two  on  deck, 
listening  to  the  distant  music  of  the  English 
drums  and  trumpets. 

As  I  lounged  about  the  deck  in  the  morning, 
utterly  unable  to  hold  any  intercourse  with  any 
one  on  board  except  by  signs,  a  sleek-looking  fel 
low  came  up  and  accosted  me  in  English.  We  soon 
got  deep  into  conversation.  My  new  acquaint 
ance  proved  to  be  Giuseppe  Jackson,  a  Sicilian 
with  an  English  grandfather,  who  had  been  a 


74  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

cook  at  the  Albion,  and  at  Murdoch's  tavern, 
had  frequently  been  to  Fresh  Pond,  knew  some 
of  the  Cambridge  students,  and  was  now  on  his 
way  to  Mr.  Marston's  in  Palermo.  I  was  right 
glad  to  see  him,  cook  though  he  was.  He  made 
me  a  very  good  interpreter.  In  the  course  of  our 
conversation  he  made  some  remark  about  "  the 
Pope,  that  fool." 

"  What,"  said  I,  "  do  you  speak  so  of  the  Pope. 
Are  you  not  a  Roman  Catholic  ?  " 

"  Ah !  I  was  till  I  live  in  America.  I  was  all 
in  the  dark  —  you  understand  what  I  say  —  till 
I  come  there.  Then  my  eyes  open ;  I  say,  dat 
for  the  Pope,  and  his  old  red  cap.  Ah  !  once  I 
was  afraid  to  think  of  him." 

"  You  are  no  longer  a  Catholic  ;  what  religion 
do  you  believe  in  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  religion  in  particular." 

I  congratulated  him  on  so  happy  a  conversion 
from  the  error  of  his  ways. 

At  breakfast  —  a  Mediterranean  breakfast  of 
eggs,  fruit,  and  nuts  —  an  old  man,  of  severe 
countenance  and  tremendous  mustache,  sat  op 
posite  me.  We  made  various  attempts  at  conver 
sation  ;  as  neither  understood  the  other,  we  had 
to  be  satisfied  with  reiterated  bowings,  and  mu 
tual  attentions  of  various  kinds,  in  which  the 
old  man  showed  himself  exceedingly  apt  and 
polite.  I  afterwards  found  that  he  was  no  less  a 
personage  than  il  Principe  Statelli,  a  general  of 
the  Sicilian  army  —  but  Sicilian  "  Principes  " 
are  apt  to  be  humbugs. 

Mount  ^Etna  is  smoking  vigorously  in  front 
of  us.  We  are  skirting  the  shore  of  Sicily. 


EUROPE  75 

We  stopped  at  Syracuse.  ...  In  going  ashore, 
a  little  square-built  English-looking  man,  making 
a  low  congee,  presented  me  with  a  bundle  of 
papers,  which  proved  to  be  certificates  of  his 
qualifications  as  a  guide  to  the  curiosities  of  the 
place.  Accordingly  Jack  Robinson — for  such 
was  his  name  —  and  I  got  into  a  kind  of  ferry 
boat  and  landed  on  the  other  side  of  the  bay. 
[His  guide  took  him  to  the  Ear  of  Dionysius 
and  other  places  of  interest.] 

Jack  insisting  on  showing  me  his  certificates 
of  service  in  the  American  Navy,  and  I,  being 
desirous  of  seeing  how  the  Syracusans  lived, 
went  home  with  him,  and  enjoyed  the  exhibition 
of  his  numerous  progeny,  who  were  all  piled 
together  in  bed.  This  done  we  took  boat  and 
went  off  to  the  steamer.  Jack  was  so  well  satis 
fied  with  the  dollar  and  a  half  I  gave  him  for  his 
day's  services  that  he  must  needs  salute  me  after 
the  Sicilian  style  with  a  kiss  on  the  cheek,  which 
I  submitted  to.  He  then  departed,  kissing  his 
hand  as  his  head  disappeared  over  the  ship's 
side.  The  stubborn  English  temper  was  well 
nigh  melted  away  with  his  long  sojourn  among 
the  Gentiles.  He  had  been  pressed  in  early 
youth  into  the  navy  —  had  served  both  England 
and  America  (though  the  latter,  I  believe,  in  the 
capacity  of  a  washerman).  As  far  as  I  could 
see,  Jack  was  an  honest  man,  an  exceedingly 
rara  avis  in  these  quarters. 

Arriving  at  Messina  in  the  morning,  my  ac 
quaintance  the  cook  —  an  experienced  traveler 
—  was  of  the  greatest  service  to  me.  Indeed, 
without  his  assistance  niy  inexperience  and  igno- 


76  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

ranee  of  the  language  would  have  put  me  to  seri 
ous  embarrassment.  He  showed  me  how  to  treat 
a  Sicilian  landlord,  and  to  bribe  a  custom-house 
officer.  I  am  indebted  to  him  for  very  excellent 
accommodations  at  a  very  reasonable  price. 

Messina,  Sunday.  I  took  my  station  outside 
one  of  the  gates  in  the  rear  of  the  city,  to  look 
at  the  scum  of  humanity  that  came  pouring  out. 
All  was  filth,  and  age,  and  ruin,  —  the  walls, 
the  tall  gateway  with  its  images  and  inscriptions, 
the  hovels  at  the  top  of  the  wall  and  in  the  an 
cient  suburb,  all  seemed  crumbling  to  decay.  The 
orange  and  lemon  groves  in  the  ditch  of  the  for 
tification  were  dingy  and  dirty,  but  away  in  the 
distance  appeared  the  summits  of  the  mountains, 
almost  as  wild  and  beautiful  as  our  mountains  of 
New  England.  I  thought  of  them,  and,  in  the 
revival  of  old  feelings,  half  wished  myself  at 
home.  I  soon  forgot,  however,  all  but  what  was 
before  my  eyes,  in  watching  the  motley  array 
that  passed  by  me.  Men  and  women  literally 
hung  with  rags,  half  hid  in  dirt,  hideous  with 
every  imaginable  species  of  deformity,  and  bear 
ing  on  their  persons  a  population  as  numerous 
as  that  of  Messina  itself,  —  these  formed  the  bulk 
of  the  throng.  Priests  with  their  black  broad- 
brimmed  hats  and  their  long  robes,  —  fat  and 
good-looking  men,  —  were  the  next  numerous 
class.  They  draw  life  and  sustenance  from  these 
dregs  of  humanity,  just  as  tall  pigweed  flour 
ishes  on  a  dunghill.  Then  there  were  mustachioed 
soldiers,  very  different  from  the  stately  and  se 
date  soldier  of  England.  There  were  men  bear 
ing  holy  pictures  and  images  ;  ladies  in  swarms, 


EUROPE  77 

whose  profession  was  stamped  on  their  faces ; 
musicians,  with  a  troop  of  vagabonds  in  their 
rear.  All  around  the  gateway  were  the  tables 
of  butchers,  fruiterers,  confectioners,  money 
changers,  boot-blackers,  and  a  throng  of  dirty 
men,  women,  and  children.  Shouts,  yells,  and 
a  universal  hubbub. 

Tuesday,  Jan.  2nd.  This  morning  I  set  out  on 
an  expedition  to  see  a  little  of  the  country,  in 
company  with  a  Spanish  gentleman,  Don  Mateo 
Lopez,  who  speaks  good  English.  We  hired  a 
carriage  together,  and  got  outside  the  gates  by 
eleven,  after  some  trouble  in  procuring  pass 
ports.  At  night  we  reached  a  little  fishing  town 
called  Giardini,  not  far  from  ^Etna.  The  weather 
was  beautiful,  the  atmosphere  clear  and  soft. 
As  for  the  scenery  on  the  road,  it  was  noble  be 
yond  expression.  For  myself,  I  never  imagined 
that  so  much  pleasure  could  be  conveyed  through 
the  eye.  The  road  was  a  succession  of  beautiful 
scenes,  —  of  mountains  and  valleys  on  one  side 
and  the  sea  on  the  other ;  but  as  to  the  people, 
they  are  a  gang  of  ragamuffins.  .  .  .  These  dis 
gusting  holes  of  villages  only  added  zest  to  the 
pleasure  of  the  scenery,  —  a  pleasure  not  inferior 
and  not  unlike  that  of  looking  upon  the  face  of 
a  beautiful  woman.  In  many  respects  our  own 
scenery  is  far  beyond  it ;  but  I  cannot  say  that 
I  have  ever  looked  with  more  delight  on  any  of 
our  New  England  mountains  and  streams  than 
upon  these  of  Sicily.  The  novelty  of  the  sight, 
and  the  ruined  fortresses  on  the  highest  crags, 
add  much  to  the  effect.  .  .  . 

I  went  to  the  museum  of  Prince  Boscari,  a 


78  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

valuable  collection  of  antiquities,  etc.  In  the 
midst  of  a  hall,  surrounded  by  precious  frag 
ments  of  statues  and  broken  pottery,  lay  the 
skeleton  of  a  Chippeway  birch  canoe.  I  wel 
comed  it  as  a  countryman  and  an  old  friend. 

I  bought  some  specimens  of  lava  and  amber  of 
a  couple  of  rascals  who  asked  twice  their  value, 
and  abated  it  at  once  when  I  refused  to  buy. 

I  went  to  see  an  opera  of  Bellini  —  a  native, 
I  have  heard,  of  Catania.  .  .  .  Lopez  had  a 
friend  waiting  for  him  here  —  a  light-hearted 
and  lively  young  Spaniard  whose  youthful  ec 
centricities  sat  as  easily  and  gracefully  upon 
him  as  awkwardly  upon  old  Mateo.  When  we 
set  out  on  our  return,  il  mio  amico,  as  Lopez 
called  him,  was  rattling  away  incessantly,  and 
imitating  every  dog,  hog,  or  jackass  we  met. 

We  had  a  sort  of  caleche.  Besides  the  driver, 
a  small  boy  ran  along  by  our  side,  or  clung  be 
hind,  ready  to  do  what  offices  might  be  required 
of  him.  A  still  smaller  one  was  stowed  away  in 
a  net,  slung  between  the  wheels  where  he  kept 
a  constant  eye  on  the  baggage.  The  larger  one 
employed  himself  in  tying  knots  in  the  horses' 
tails  as  he  ran  along  —  or  he  would  dart  along 
the  road  before  us,  clamber  on  a  wall,  and  sit 
till  we  came  by,  when  he  would  spring  down 
with  a  shout  and  run  on  again.  .  .  . 

The  women  of  this  country  are  not  handsome. 
You  see  groups  of  them  about  the  stone  door 
ways  spinning  twine,  with  their  hair  drawn  back 
in  the  fashion  represented  in  the  portraits  of  our 
grandmothers. 

We  stopped  at  night  at  Giardini.    The  "  pa- 


EUROPE 


79 


drone  "  showed  us  with  great  complacency  the 
register  of  his  house,  which,  he  said,  contained 
the  recommendations  of  the  guests  who  had 
honored  him  with  their  company.  One  man's 
"  recommendation "  warned  all  travelers  that 
the  padrone's  beds  were  full  of  fleas;  another's 
that  nothing  in  the  house  was  fit  to  eat,  etc.  The 
importunate  padrone  could  not  read  English 


CHAPTER  IX 

IN  SICILY 

THE  Church  of  the  Benedictines  is  the  noblest 
edifice  I  have  seen.  This  and  others  not  unlike 
it  have  impressed  me  with  new  ideas  of  the 
Catholic  religion.  Not  exactly,  for  I  reverenced 
it  before  as  the  religion  of  generations  of  brave 
and  great  men,  but  now  I  honor  it  for  itself. 
They  are  mistaken  who  sneer  at  its  ceremonies 
as  a  mere  mechanical  force ;  they  have  a  power 
ful  and  salutary  effect  on  the  mind.  Those  who 
have  witnessed  the  services. in  this  Benedictine 
church,  and  deny  what  I  say,  must  either  be 
singularly  stupid  and  insensible  by  nature,  or 
rendered  so  by  prejudice. 

Saturday.  I  recall  what  I  said  of  the  beauty 
of  the  Sicilian  women  —  so  far,  at  least,  as  con 
cerns  those  of  high  rank.  This  is  a  holyday. 
They  are  all  abroad,  in  carriages  and  on  foot. 
One  passed  me  in  the  church  of  the  Capuchin 
convent,  with  the  black  eye,  the  warm  rich  cheek, 
and  the  bright  glance  that  belong  to  southern 
climates.  They  are  beautiful  beyond  all  else. 

Sunday.  Took  leave  of  the  hospitable  family 
of  Consul  Payson  with  much  regret,  and  went 
off  to  the  steamer  Palermo,  bound  for  Palermo. 
I  found  her  completely  surrounded  by  boats, 


IN  SICILY  81 

wedged  close  together ;  friends  were  kissing  their 
adieus,  and  boatmen  cursing.  The  delicacy  of 
sentiment  expressed  in  the  Italian  national  oath 
is  admirable  —  they  rival  the  Spaniards  in  that 
matter,  —  "  Arcades  ambo  ;  id  est,  blackguards 
both."  At  length  visitors  were  warned  off,  the 
boats  dispersed,  scattering  from  a  common  centre, 
in  all  directions ;  a  man  screamed  the  names  of 
the  passengers,  by  way  of  roll-call;  and  among 
the  rest  the  illustrious  one  of  Signore  Park-a- 
man  ;  and  we  got  under  weigh.  It  was  late  at 
night.  We  passed  the  long  array  of  bright 
lights  from  the  fine  buildings  along  the  quay 
of  Messina,  — could  just  discern  the  mountains 
behind  the  town,  indistinct  in  the  darkness,  like 
thunder-clouds,  —  left  a  long  train  of  phosphoric 
light  behind  us,  as  we  steered  down  between 
Scylla  and  Charybdis,  and  in  half  an  hour  were 
fairly  out  on  the  Sicilian  Sea.  The  ghost  of  de 
parted  perils  still  lingers  about  the  scene  of 
Ulysses'  submarine  adventures ;  an  apology  for 
a  whirlpool  on  one  side  —  still  bearing  the  name 
of  Scylla  —  and  an  insignificant  shoal  on  the 
other.  I  thought  as  we  passed,  and  the  moon 
made  a  long  stream  of  light  on  the  water,  that  it 
would  be  an  adventure  worth  encountering,  to 
be  cast  away  in  that  place,  —  but  my  unwonted 
classical  humoi?  was  of  very  short  duration ;  for, 
going  below,  I  found  a  cabin  full  of  seasick 
wretches,  which  attractive  spectacle  banished  all 
recollection  of  Virgil  and  Homer.  I  was  doomed 
to  lie  all  night  a  witness  to  their  evolutions  ;  a 
situation  not  many  degrees  more  desirable  than 
being  yourself  a  sufferer.  .  .  . 


82  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Wednesday.  I  have  just  arranged  an  expedi 
tion  to  Girgenti,  at  the  southern  point  of  the 
island.  Traveling  in  Sicily  is  no  joke,  especially 
at  this  season.  I  engaged  a  man  named  Luigi  to 
furnish  three  mules,  supplies  of  provisions,  cook 
ing  apparatus,  an  attendant,  and  thus  to  pilot 
me  round  the  island,  paying  himself  all  tavern 
reckonings  and  buona  manos.  For  this  I  am  to 
give  him  four  dollars  a  day.  I  thus  avoid  all 
hazard  of  being  imposed  upon,  or  robbed,  for 
I  shall  have  scarce  any  money  with  me.  Luigi 
is  perfectly  familiar  with  the  island  ;  has,  more 
over,  the  reputation  of  an  honest  man,  notwith 
standing  which  I  follow  Mr.  Marston's  advice  in 
making  him  sign  a  written  agreement.  I  have 
laid  it  down  as  an  inviolable  rule  to  look  on 
everybody  here  as  a  rascal  of  the  first  water,  till 
he  has  shown  himself  by  undeniable  evidence  to 
be  an  honest  man. 

Giuseppe  has  been  with  me  as  a  servant  of 
late.  The  chief  fault  with  him  was  his  continu 
ally  stopping  to  kiss  some  of  his  acquaintances 
in  the  street.  He  seems  to  know  everybody,  un 
derstands  perfectly  how  to  cheat  everybody,  has 
astonishing  promptness  and  readiness  for  all 
kinds  of  service.  "  It  is  'trange,  Mister  Park-a- 
man,"  he  modestly  remarked  the  other  day,  "that 
I  cannot  go  nowhere,  but  what  all  the  people 
seem  to  like-a  me,  and  be  good  friends  with  me." 
He  is  vain  as  a  turkey-cock  —  dresses  infinitely 
better  than  I  ever  did.  He  is  a  great  coward, 
trembling  continually  with  fear  of  robbers  in  all 
our  rides.  The  Sicilian  robbers,  by  the  way,  are 
a  great  humbug.  When  I  engaged  Giuseppe  I 


IN  SICILY  83 

offered  him  half  a  dollar  a  day  for  wages.  "  No, 
Mist'r  Park-a-man,  I  no  take-a  wages  at  all. 
When  you  go  away,  you  make-a  me  a  present, 
just  as  much  as  you  like ;  then  I  feel  more  bet 
ter."  So  I  told  him  I  would  make-a  him  a  pre 
sent  of  half  a  dollar  a  day  ;  which  I  did,  a  mode 
of  remuneration  more  suited  to  Giuseppe's  self- 
importance. 

Thursday,  Jan.  18th.  All  this  morning  Luigi 
Eannesi  was  in  a  fever-heat  of  preparation.  I 
told  him  to  be  ready  at  two  ;  he  came  to  me  at 
twelve  announcing  that  all  was  ready  ;  that  he 
had  engaged  mules  at  Marineo,  and  that  the 
carriage  was  at  the  door  to  take  us  there.  I  was 
not  prepared  for  such  promptitude.  After  some 
delay,  I  got  ready  too,  and  we  set  out.  Luigi,  a 
diminutive  Sicilian  with  a  thin  brown  face  and 
an  air  of  alertness  about  every  inch  of  him,  began 
to  jabber  Italian  with  such  volubility  that  I  could 
not  understand  a  word.  He  must  needs  exhibit 
every  article  of  the  provisions  he  had  got  ready 
for  the  journey,  extolling  the  qualities  of  each,  — 
and  they  deserved  all  his  praises,  —  and  always 
ended  by  pounding  himself  on  the  breast,  rolling 
up  his  eyes,  and  exclaiming,  "  Do  you  think 
Luigi  loves  money  ?  No  !  Luigi  loves  honor ! ' 
and  then  launching  forth  into  interminable  eulo 
gies  of  the  country  we  were  going  to  see,  and  the 
adventures  we  should  meet  there.  We  stopped 
at  night  at  Marineo,  where  Luigi  provided  a 
most  sumptuous  dinner  ;  talked  and  gesticulated, 
half  frenzied  because  he  found  I  could  not  under 
stand  half  he  said ;  then  seized  my  hand,  which 
he  dutifully  kissed,  and  left  me  to  my  niedita- 


84  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

tions.  He  reappeared,  however,  bringing  a  tie- 
canter  of  wine,  and  a  large  book  of  antiquities 
which  he  had  brought  for  me  to  read.  All  this 
was  at  his  own  expense.  The  terms  of  his  bar 
gain  bound  him  to  nothing  else  than  to  keep  me 
alive  on  the  road. 

(Castel  Termini.)  Luigi  is  a  great  antiqua 
rian.  Pie  rakes  up  ancient  money  at  every  vil 
lage  as  he  goes  along.  His  antiquarian  skill  is 
a  passport  to  introduce  him  anywhere  ;  to  the 
nobles  and  princes,  who  are  not  always,  however, 
such  dignified  personages  as  would  appear  from 
their  titles.  I  went  with  him  to-night  to  the 
house  of  a  judge,  who  produced  a  bottle  of 
rosolio  and  showed  me  a  grotto  in  his  garden 
which  he  had  stuck  all  over  with  specimens  of 
the  Sicily  minerals.  I  then  went  with  him  to  a 
"  conversazione,"  where  some  dozen  people  were 
playing  cards.  They  looked  at  the  "  signore 
Americano,"  as  the  judge  introduced  me  to  them, 
with  great  curiosity,  and  at  last  left  their  game 
and  clustered  round  me,  very  curious  to  know 
something  of  the  place  I  came  from.  I  talked  to 
them  for  some  time  in  a  most  original  style  of 
Italian  ;  but  getting  tired  of  being  lionized  in 
such  a  manner,  I  bade  them  good-night  and  went 
back  to  the  albergo. 

I  went  to  visit  the  famous  sulphur  works  not 
far  from  these  places.  In  the  shaft  I  entered 
the  rock  was  solid  sulphur  —  scarce  any  mixture 
of  foreign  ingredients.  As  we  rode  away,  a  noble 
prospect  of  Volcanic  mountains  lay  off  on  our 
right.  Soon  after  the  mule-track  became  a  good 
road.  A  carriage  from  Caltanisetta  passed  us, 


IN  SICILY  85 

belonging  to  some  English  travelers  who  had 
made  a  wide  detour  for  the  sake  of  a  road.  We 
saw  at  last  the  battlements  and  church  spires  of 
Girgenti,  crowning  a  high  hill  before  us,  and  had 
occasional  glimpses  of  the  sea  through  the  valleys. 
Approaching  the  hill,  we  found  a  deep  and  shad 
owed  valley  intervening.  Luigi  left  the  road  and 
descended  into  it  by  a  wretched  mule-track. 
Flocks  of  goats  passed  on  the  road  above  us, 
mules  and  asses  loaded  with  their  panniers  came 
down  from  the  city.  One  of  his  fits  of  enthusi 
asm  had  taken  possession  of  Luigi.  He  began 
to  lash  his  mule  and  drive  him  along  over  sand 
and  rocks  at  such  a  rate  that  I  thought  him  mad, 
till  he  told  me  that  it  was  necessary  to  get  to 
Girgenti  before  the  Englishmen.  "  Corragio ! 
my  brave  mule  !  Corragio,  signore,"  he  shouted, 
"  we  shall  be  the  victors !  "  At  that  he  drove 
full  speed  up  the  steep  hill  toward  the  gate. 
Nothing  would  stop  him.  He  leaped  over  ditches, 
scrambled  through  mud  and  stones,  shouting 
"  Corragio "  at  the  top  of  his  lungs.  At  last 
an  insuperable  gully  brought  him  up  short.  He 
clapped  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  exclaiming, 
"  Santissima  Maria !  "  in  a  tone  of  wrath  and 
despair,  then  recovered  his  spirits  and  dashed  off 
in  another  direction.  We  succeeded.  When  we 
got  to  the  top  the  carriage  was  quarter  of  a  mile 
off,  and  Luigi  shouted  "  Vittoria !  "  as  he  rode 
into  the  gate,  as  much  elated  as  if  he  had  accom 
plished  some  great  achievement.  It  was  a  festa 
day.  All  the  people  in  the  crowded  streets  and 
in  the  little  square  wore  white  caps.  They  were 
a  hardy  and  athletic  race  —  their  faces,  their 


86  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

short  strong  necks,  their  broad  and  prominent 
chests,  were  all  burnt  to  a  dark  ruddy  brown. 

(Girgenti.)  Luigi  brings  me  pockets  full  of 
ancient  money  and  seems  greatly  astonished  at 
my  indifference.  As  for  himself  he  is  rabid.  He 
dodges  into  every  house  and  shop,  inquiring  for 
"  antica  moneta,"  stops  contadini  at  work  with 
the  same  question ;  he  has  scraped  together  an 
enormous  bagful  for  which  he  pays  scarce  any 
thing,  perfectly  familiar  as  he  is  with  its  true 
value,  and  with  the  "costumi  del  paese,"  as  he 
says,  the  customs  of  the  country.  His  enthusi 
asm  embraces  every  object,  far  and  wide.  He 
raves  of  love  on  the  road  —  tells  how  he  eloped 
with  his  wife  —  sings  love  songs,  then  falls  into 
the  martial  vein,  shouts  "  Corragio,"  defies  the 
wind,  rain,  and  torrents.  He  enters  into  all  my 
plans  with  the  most  fervid  zeal,  leaving  me 
nothing  to  do.  Every  night  he  comes  upstairs 
bringing  all  kinds  of  dresses  and  utensils  of  the 
people  for  me  to  look  at.  Sometimes  he  comes 
in  with  a  handful  of  old  coins,  telling  me  with  a 
chuckle  that  he  had  bought  them  for  "  pochis- 
simo,"  kissing  them  repeatedly  in  the  exultation 
of  a  good  bargain.  I  have  lived  most  sumptu 
ously  ever  since  I  have  been  with  him.  He  puts 
the  whole  inn  into  a  ferment,  rakes  the  town  to 
find  the  best  of  everything,  and  waits  on  table 
with  an  eulogium  of  every  dish.  "  Ah  !  signore," 
he  repeats,  "  do  you  think  Luigi  loves  money  ? 
No,  Luigi  loves  honor."  He  has  something  to 
give  to  every  beggar  he  meets.  In  short,  the 
fellow  is  a  jewel,  and  shall  be  my  particular 
friend  henceforward. 


IN   SICILY  87 

At  the  English  consul's  I  met  a  blind  trav 
eler,  a  Mr.  Holeman,  who  has  been  over  Siberia, 
New  Holland,  and  other  remote  regions,  for  the 
most  part  alone,  and  written  seven  volumes  of 
his  travels.  Traveling,  he  told  me,  was  a  passion 
with  him.  He  could  not  sit  at  home.  I  walked 
home  with  him  through  the  streets,  admiring 'his 
indomitable  energy.  I  saw  him  the  next  morn 
ing  sitting  on  his  mule,  with  the  guide  he  had 
hired,  —  his  strong  frame,  his  manly  English 
face,  his  gray  beard  and  mustaches,  and  his 
sightless  eyeballs  gave  him  a  noble  appearance 
in  the  crowd  of  wondering  Sicilians  about  him. 

From  Girgenti  our  course  lay  westward  to  a 
village  called  Mont'  Allegro.  .  .  . 

Luigi  came  up  in  the  evening  to  hold  "  un 
discorso  "  with  me,  according  to  his  custom.  He 
was  in  his  usual  state  of  excitement.  He  takes 
a  glass  of  wine  in  his  hand,  "  Viva  F  onore,  sig- 
norino  mio !  "  rolling  up  his  eyes  and  flourishing 
his  hands,  "  viva  Bacco  ;  viva  Dio  ;  viva  il  con- 
solo  Americano  !  "  and  so  on,  the  finale  being  a 
seizure  and  kissing  of  my  hand  ;  after  which  he 
inquires  if  I  shall  want  him,  looks  about  to  see 
that  all  is  right,  kisses  my  hand  again,  and  goes 
off. 

One  of  Luigi's  dignified  acquaintances  in  this 
place  was  the  Marchese  Giacomo,  a  nobleman  of 
great  wealth  and  a  determined  virtuoso.  Luigi 
called  on  him  with  an  offering  of  coins,  and  re 
turned  with  an  invitation  to  his  "  signore "  to 
visit  the  Marchese  and  see  his  pictures.  He  had 
a  most  admirable  picture-gallery  —  among  the 
rest  was  an  original  of  Guido.  He  kindly  in- 


88  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

vited  me  to  dine  with  him,  but  Luigi's  care  had 
supplied  me  a  plentiful  meal  already.  So  much 
for  one  specimen  of  a  Sicilian  nobleman.  I  saw 
one  or  two  more  of  nearly  the  same  stamp  at  a 
conversazione.  The  next  morning  I  found  Luigi 
at  the  albergo,  sitting  over  a  bottle  of  wine  with 
a  large,  fat,  sleepy -looking  man,  in  rather  a 
dingy  coat,  whom  on  my  entering  he  slapped  on 
the  shoulder,  "  Ecco,  signore,  mio  amico  il  ba- 
rone ;  un  brav'  uomo,"  etc.,  running  on  with  a  long 
string  of  praises  of  his  friend  the  baron,  at  which 
this  extraordinary  specimen  of  a  noble  kept 
shaking  his  large  head  in  modest  denial.  .  .  . 

The  way  was  enlivened  by  the  edifying  sin 
gularities  of  the  muleteer  Michele,  who  walked 
along  talking  without  intermission  for  an  hour 
together,  though  no  one  listened  or  replied.  He 
interrupted  his  discourse  only  to  belabor  his 
mule  and  curse  him  in  Sicilian.  When  we  came 
to  a  steep  place,  he  would  take  a  firm  hold  of 
the  beast's  tail  with  one  hand,  while  he  bela 
bored  him  with  a  rope's  end  that  he  held  in  the 
other,  and  thus  they  would  scramble  up  to 
gether.  Where  the  mud  was  more  than  a  foot 
deep  Michele  would  place  both  hands  on  the 
mule's  rump  and  vault,  with  a  sort  of  grunt, 
upon  his  back ;  wriggle  himself  about  for  a  while 
to  find  a  comfortable  seat,  and  then  burst  forth 
with  some  holy  canticle  in  praise  of  a  saint. 

Just  after  leaving  the   ruins   of  Selinuntum 
we  were  struggling  along  in  the  mud  of  a  lane 
between  rows  of  cork-trees  and  aloes,  when  Mi 
chele  suddenly  set  up  a  yowling  like  a  tom-cat, 
—  stopped  in  the  midst  of  a  note  to  expostulate 


IN  SICILY  89 

with  his  mule,  —  and  then  proceeded  in  a  more 
dismal  tone  than  before.  Luigi  clapped  his  hands 
and  shouted,  "  Bravo  !  compare  Michele,  belli- 
sima !  "  at  which  the  gratified  Michele  redoubled 
his  exertions,  and  squalled  at  the  top  of  his 
throat,  putting  his  hand  to  the  side  of  his  mouth 
to  increase  the  volume  of  sound.  A  young  con- 
tadino  who  was  wading  along  on  an  ass  at  a  little 
distance  behind  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  emula 
tion,  and  set  up  a  counter  howl  to  one  of  the  airs 
peculiar  to  the  contadini.  I  cried  bravo  to  this 
new  vocalist,  while  Luigi  cried  bella  and  bellis- 
siina  to  the  exertions  of  Michele.  Michele  jogged 
along  on  his  mule,  the  tassel  of  his  woolen  cap 
flapping ;  while  Luigi  twisted  himself  in  his  sad 
dle  to  see  how  I  relished  the  entertainment,  re 
marking  with  a  grin,  "  Canta  Michele,"  Michele 
is  singing. 

Marsala,  as  everybody  knows,  is  famous  for 
its  wine.    For  travelers  there  is  little  to  see.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  X 

NAPLES   AND   ROME 

I  HAVE  seen  my  last  of  Sicily.  I  bade  adieu  to 
Luigi,  who  insisted  on  my  receiving  a  number 
of  valuable  ancient  coins,  and  would  have  given 
me  an  hundred  if  I  had  let  him  have  his  own 
way  —  took  leave  of  the  Marstons  and  Gardi- 
ners  —  had  my  baggage  carried  on  board  the 
Palermo  by  three  facchini,  and  followed  it  my 
self. 

The  next  morning  the  famous  Bay  of  Naples 
looked  wretched  and  dismal  enough  under  the 
influences  of  an  easterly  storm,  through  which 
Vesuvius  wras  just  visible.  I  went  to  the  Hotel 
de  Rome,  an  excellent  house,  with  a  restaurant 
beneath  where  you  get  and  pay  for  precisely 
what  you  want,  an  arrangement  far  better  than 
a  table  d'hote. 

I  spent  the  first  day  at  the  Royal  Museum, 
where  I  could  not  determine  which  I  liked  best, 
the  Hercules  Farnese  or  the  Venus  of  Praxi 
teles. 

I  met,  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Rogers,  Mr.  Theo 
dore  Parker  and  Mr.  Farnam  from  Philadelphia. 
I  had  already  met  Mr.  Parker  at  the  Hotel  de 
Rome.  Yesterday  we  went  up  Vesuvius  together. 

.  .  .  We  got  some  of  the  famous  Lacrimce 


NAPLES  AND   ROME  91 

Christi  wine  at  a  house  half  way  down.  We 
reached  Naples  at  three,  where  the  outskirts  of 
the  town  were  deserted,  with  the  exception  of  a 
few  miserable  old  men  and  women  sitting  in  the 
doorways.  It  was  Sunday,  the  great  day  of  the 
carnival.  King  Ferdinand,  however,  sets  his  face 
against  the  carnival,  which  for  several  years  has 
been  a  mere  nothing  at  Naples.  This  year,  in 
consideration  of  the  distress  of  tradesmen,  he 
has  consented,  much  against  his  inclination,  to 
make  a  fool  of  himself.  This  was  the  day  ap 
pointed  for  a  grand  masked  procession,  in  which 
the  king  and  his  ministers  were  to  pelt  his  sub 
jects  with  sugar-plums,  and  be  pelted  in  return. 
There  was  a  great  crowd  as  we  entered  the 
square  upon  the  Toledo  —  the  main  street  of 
Naples.  While  we  were  slowly  driving  through 
it,  the  head  of  the  procession  appeared.  First 
came  a  dragon  about  fifty  feet  long,  with  his 
back  just  visible  above  the  throng  of  heads,  as 
if  he  was  swimming  in  the  water.  He  was  drawn 
by  a  long  train  of  horses.  Five  or  six  masked 
noblemen  were  on  his  back  pelting  the  crowd 
and  the  people  in  the  galleries  of  the  houses  on 
each  side.  Then  came  a  sort  of  car,  full  of  bears, 
cats,  and  monkeys,  all  flinging  sugar-plums.  The 
horses  of  this  vehicle  were  appropriately  ridden 
by  jackasses.  Then  came  a  long  train  of  car 
riages,  which  we  joined.  The  crowd  was  enor 
mous.  The  Toledo  was  one  wide  river  of  heads, 
the  procession  slowly  moving  down  on  one  side 
and  returning. on  the  other.  Along  the  middle, 
a  line  of  dragoons  sat  motionless,  with  drawn 
swords,  on  their  horses.  Mrs.  P.  was  hit  on 


92  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

the  nose  by  a  formidable  sugar-plum  flung  by  a 
vigorous  hand  from  one  of  the  balconies.  She 
was  in  great  trouble,  but  there  was  no  such  thing 
as  retreat.  We  got  our  full  share.  Mr.  Farnam's 
dignity  was  disturbed.  Mr.  Parker  had  a  glass 
of  his  spectacles  broken.  I  alone  escaped  unin 
jured.  At  length  the  royal  carriage  appeared. 
Ferdinand  —  a  gigantic  man,  taller  and  heavier 
than  any  of  his  subjects  —  was  flinging  sugar 
plums  with  hearty  good-will,  like  all  the  rest. 
As  they  passed  our  carriage  the  royal  family 
greeted  us  with  a  broadside,  which  completed 
Mrs.  Parker's  discomposure.  They  threw  genu 
ine  sugar-plums  —  the  others  were  quite  uneat 
able.  The  king  wore  a  black  silk  dress  which 
covered  him  from  head  to  foot.  His  face  was 
protected  by  a  wire  mask.  He  carried  a  brass 
machine  in  his  hand  to  fling  sugar-plums  with. 
His  uncle,  his  mother,  his  wife,  and  all  his  chief 
noblemen  soon  appeared,  all  protected  by  masks. 
The  procession  passed  several  times  up  and 
down  the  Toledo,  with  occasional  stoppages.  One 
of  these  happened  when  the  king's  carriage  was 
not  far  before  us,  while  directly  over  against  it,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  street,  was  a  triumphal  car 
full  of  noblemen.  Instantly  there  began  a  battle. 
Ferdinand  and  the  princes  sent  volley  after  vol 
ley  against  their  opponents,  who  returned  it  with 
interest.  The  crowd  set  up  a  roar,  and  made  a 
rush  for  the  spoils.  There  was  a  genuine  battle 
for  the  sugar-plums  that  fell  between  the  two 
carriages,  pushing,  scrambling,  shouting,  yelling, 
confusion  worse  confounded,  till  the  dignified 
combatants  thought  proper  to  separate.  .  .  . 


NAPLES  AND  ROME  93 

The  remoter  and  more  obscure  parts  of  this 
great  city  are  quite  as  interesting.  Here  you 
may  see  an  endless  variety  of  costumes,  of  the 
women,  almost  all  beautiful  and  neat.  There  is 
something  particularly  attractive  about  these 
women,  who  are  seldom,  however,  handsome, 
properly  speaking,  but  there  is  the  devil  in  their 
bright  faces  and  full  rounded  forms.  Each  town 
in  the  environs  has  its  peculiar  costume. 

On  Saturday  I  left  Naples  for  Kome  in  the 
diligence,  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Parker.  .  .  . 

At  length  we  got  a  glimpse  of  St.  Peter's. 
On  every  side  of  us  were  remains  of  temples, 
aqueducts,  and  tombs ;  Mr.  Parker  became  in 
spired,  and  spouted  Cicero  and  Virgil.  Three 
young  Romans  followed  us  for  a  mile,  running 
along  in  their  rags,  with  their  dingy  peaked  hats 
in  their  hands,  constantly  exclaiming  in  a  wail 
ing  tone,  "Eccelenz^  eccelenz  !  povero  miserabile, 
molto  difame  !  "  —  Your  excellency,  your  excel 
lency,  I  am  a  poor  miserable  devil,  very  hungry. 

Monday.  To-day  is  one  of  the  great  days.  Mr. 
P.  with  his  lady  and  myself  went  in  a  carriage 
to  see  the  "  show."  The  streets  were  crowded 
with  maskers  of  all  descriptions,  in  carriages  and 
on  foot.  A  blast  of  trumpets  from  the  end  of 
the  Corso  was  the  signal  for  all  the  carriages  to 
draw  up  to  one  side  and  the  crowd  to  divide,  to 
make  way  for  a  column  of  the  Pope's  soldiers. 
First  came  the  sappers,  with  beards  and  mus 
taches  that  fell  over  their  chests,  shaggy  bearskin 
caps  and  leather  aprons.  Each  carried  a  broad- 
axe  over  his  shoulder,  and  his  musket  slung  at 
his  back.  They  were  savage  and  martial-looking 


94  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

fellows.  A  long  train  of  soldiers  followed,  with 
a  body  of  cavalry  bringing  up  the  rear.  So 
much  for  the  Pope's  summary  measures  for 
preserving  order.  After  this  the  carnival  began 
in  earnest. 

It  was  not  the  solemn  sugar-plum  foolery  of 
Naples,  but  foolery  entered  into  with  right  hearti 
ness  and  good- will.  There  were  devils  of  every 
description,  from  the  imp  of  two  feet  high  to  a 
six  foot  monster  with  horns  and  hoofs  and  tail, 
and  a  female  friend  on  each  arm.  There  were 
harlequins  with  wooden  swords,  or  with  bladders 
tied  to  poles,  which  they  beat  over  the  heads  of 
all  they  met ;  Pulcinellas,  and  an  endless  variety 
of  nondescripts.  Some  of  the  carriages  were 
triumphal  cars  gayly  ornamented,  full  of  mask 
ers,  men  and  girls,  in  spangled  dresses.  Instead 
of  sugar-plums,  they  flung  flowers  at  one  an 
other.  Some  of  the  women  wore  wire  masks  or 
little  vizards,  which  left  the  lower  part  of  the 
face  bare ;  many,  however,  had  no  covering  at 
all  to  their  faces.  Few  had  any  regular  beauty 
of  features,  but  there  was  an  expression  of  heart 
and  spirit,  and  a  loftiness,  beside,  which  did  not 
shame  their  birth.  They  flung  their  flowers  at 
you  with  the  freest  and  most  graceful  action 
imaginable.  To  battle  with  flowers  against  a 
laughing  and  conscious  face  —  showering  your 
ammunition  thick  as  the  carriage  slowly  passes 
the  balcony  —  then  straining  your  eyes  to  catch 
the  last  glance  of  the  black-eyed  witch  and  the 
last  wave  of  her  hand  as  the  crowd  closes  around 
her,  —  all  this  is  no  contemptible  amusement. 

The  inferior  class  of  women  walked   in  the 


NAPLES  AND  ROME  95 

street,  very  prettily  dressed  in  a  laced  jacket  and 
a  white  frock  that  came  an  inch  below  the  knee. 
Some  were  disguised  as  boys,  some  wore  fierce 
mustaches,  which  set  off.  well  enough  their  spirited 
faces.  Hundreds  of  men  were  shouting  round  the 
carriages  with  flowers  for  sale.  Thus  it  went  on 
for  hours,  till  the  report  of  a  cannon  gave  the  sig 
nal  for  clearing  the  Corso  for  the  horse-race.  .  .  . 

So  much  for  my  classic  "first  impressions"  of 
Rome !  Yesterday  was  the  22d  of  February  — 
the  birthday  of  Washington.  The  Americans 
here  must  needs  get  up  a  dinner,  with  speeches, 
toasts,  etc.  It  was  like  a  visit  home.  There  they 
sat,  slight,  rather  pale  and  thin  men,  not  like 
beef-fed  and  ruddy  Englishmen  ;  very  quiet  and 
apparently  timid  ;  speaking  low  to  the  waiters 
instead  of  roaring  in  the  imperative  tone  of  John 
Bull.  There  was  not  a  shadow  of  that  boisterous 
and  haughty  confidence  of  manner  that  you  see 
among  Englishmen  —  in  fact  most  of  them  seemed 
a  little  green.  A  General  Dix  presided  and  made 
a  speech  about  the  repudiation  ;  the  consul,  Mr. 
Green,  made  another  excellent  speech,  so  did  Dr. 
Howe.  Mr.  Conrade  of  Virginia  gave  us  a  most 
characteristic  specimen  of  American  eloquence, 
and  toasted  "  Washington  and  Cincinnatus ! 
Patrick  Henry  and  Cicero  !  " 

There  are  numbers  of  American  artists  here, 
some  of  them  fine  fellows.  In  fact,  it  is  some  con 
solation,  after  looking  at  the  thin  faces,  narrow 
shoulders,  and  awkward  attitudes  of  the  "  Yan 
kees,"  to  remember  that  in  genius,  enterprise,  and 
courage  —  nay,  in  bodily  strength  - —  they  are  a 
full  match  for  the  sneering  Englishmen.  Would 


96  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

that  they  bore  themselves  more  boldly  and  confi 
dently.  But  a  time  will  come  when  they  may 
meet  Europeans  on  an  equal  footing. 

Feb.  27th.  A  weary  week  of  lionizing.  I  would 
not  give  a  damn  for  all  the  churches  and  ruins  in 
Rome  —  at  least,  such  are  my  sentiments  at  pre 
sent.  There  is  unbounded  sublimity  in  the  Coli 
seum  by  moonlight,  —  that  cannot  be  denied,  — 
St.  Peter's,  too,  is  a  miracle  in  its  way ;  but  I 
would  give  them  all  for  one  ride  on  horseback 
among  the  Apennines.1 

A  Virginian  named  St.  Ives,  lately  converted 
to  Catholicism,  has  been  trying  to  convert  me, 
along  with  some  of  the  Jesuits  here.  He  has 
abandoned  the  attempt  in  disgust,  telling  me  that 
I  have  not  logic  enough  in  me  to  be  convinced  of 
anything,  to  which  I  replied  by  cursing  logic 
and  logicians. 

I  have  now  been  three  or  four  weeks  in  Rome, 
have  been  presented  to  his  Holiness  the  Pope, 
have  visited  churches,  convents,  cemeteries,  cata 
combs,  common  sewers,  including  the  Cloaca 
Maxima,  and  ten  thousand  works  of  art.  This 
will  I  say  of  Rome,  —  that  a  place  on  every  ac 
count  more  interesting,  and  which  has  a  more 
vivifying  and  quickening  influence  on  the  facul 
ties,  could  not  be  found  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
or,  at  least,  I  should  not  wish  to  go  to  it  if  it 
could.1  .  .  . 

Rome,  Friday.    Yesterday  I  went  to  the  Ca 
puchins  for  permission  to  stay  there,  which  was 
refused  peremptorily ;  but  the  Passionists  told 
me  to  come  again  at  night,  and  they  would  tell 
1  Life  of  Francis  Parkman,  p.  192. 


NAPLES  AND  ROME  97 

me  if  I  could  be  admitted.  I  came  as  directed, 
and  was  shown  a  room  in  the  middle  of  the  build 
ing,  which  contains  hundreds  of  chambers  con 
nected  by  long  and  complicated  passages,  hung 
with  pictures  of  saints  and  crucifixes.  The  monk 
told  me  that  when  the  bell  rang  I  must  leave 
my  hat,  come  out,  and  join  the  others,  and  then, 
displaying  some  lives  of  the  saints  and  other  holy 
works  on  the  table,  he  left  me  to  my  meditations. 
The  room  has  a  hideous  bleeding  image  of  Christ, 
a  vessel  of  holy  water,  and  a  number  of  holy 
pictures  —  a  bed,  a  chair  and  a  table.  Also,  hung 
against  the  wall  was  a  "  Notice  to  persons  with 
drawn  from  the  world  for  spiritual  exercises,  to 
the  end  that  they  may  derive  all  possible  profit 
from  their  holy  seclusion."  The  "  Notice  "  pro 
hibited  going  out  of  the  chamber  without  neces 
sity  ;  prohibited  also  speaking  at  any  time,  or 
making  any  noise  whatever,  writing  also,  and 
looking  out  of  the  window.  It  enjoined  the 
saying  of  three  Ave  Marias,  at  least,  at  night, 
also  to  make  your  own  bed,  etc. 

The  devil !  thought  I,  here  is  an  adventure. 
The  secret  of  my  getting  in  so  easily  was  ex 
plained.  There  were  about  thirty  Italians  re 
tired  from  the  world,  preparing  for  the  General 
Confession,  —  and  even  while  I  was  coming  to  this 
conclusion  the  bell  clanged  along  the  passage, 
and  I  went  out  to  join  the  rest.  After  climbing 
several  dark  stairs,  and  descending  others,  pull 
ing  off  their  skull-caps  to  the  great  images  of 
Christ  on  the  landing  places,  they  got  into  a 
little  chapel,  and  after  kneeling  to  the  altar, 
seated  themselves.  The  shutters  were  closed, 


98  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

and  the  curtains  drawn  immediately  after ;  there 
was  a  prayer  with  the  responses,  and  then  a  ser 
mon  of  an  hour  and  a  half  long,  in  which  the 
monk  kept  felicitating  himself  and  his  hearers 
that  they  were  of  the  genuine  church  —  little 
thinking  that  there  was  a  black  sheep  among  his 
flock.  The  sermon  over,  we  filed  off  to  our 
rooms.  In  five  minutes  the  bell  rang  again  for 
supper,  then  we  marched  off  to  a  conversazione 
in  another  part  of  the  building,  where  the  in 
junction  of  silence  was  taken  off.  I  told  the  di 
recting  priest  that  I  was  a  Protestant.  He 
seemed  a  little  startled  at  first,  then  insinuated 
a  hope  that  I  might  be  reclaimed  from  my 
damnable  heresy,  and  said  that  an  American 
had  been  there  before,  who  had  been  converted 
—  meaning  my  acquaintance  St.  Ives.  He  then 
opened  a  little  battery  of  arguments  upon  me, 
after  which  he  left  me  saying  that  a  lay  brother 
would  make  the  rounds  to  wake  us  before  sunrise. 
The  lay  brother  came  in  fact,  but  not  before 
I  had  been  waked  by  a  howling  procession  of 
the  Passionists  themselves,  who  passed  along 
about  midnight.  There  was  a  mass,  another 
prayer,  and  another  endless  sermon,  soon  after 
which  we  were  summoned  to  coffee.  I  observed 
several  of  the  Italians  looking  hard  at  me  as  I 
drank  a  glass  of  water  instead  of  coffee,  on  ac 
count  of  my  cursed  neuralgia.  Doubtless  they 
were  thinking  within  themselves,  How  that  pious 
man  is  mortifying  the  flesh  ! 

There  was  an  hour's  repose  allowed,  after 
which  came  another  sermon  in  the  chapel.  This 
over,  a  bell  rang  for  dinner,  which  was  at  eleven 


NAPLES  AND  ROME  99 

in  the  morning.  The  hall  was  on  the  lower  floor 
—  very  long,  high,  and  dark  —  with  panels  of 
oak,  and  ugly  pictures  on  the  walls  —  narrow 
oaken  tables  set  all  round  the  sides  of  the  place. 
The  monks  were  all  there,  in  their  black  robes, 
with  the  emblem  of  their  order  on  the  breast. 
They  had  their  scowling  faces,  as  well  they 
might,  for  their  discipline  is  tremendously  strict. 
Before  each  was  placed  an  earthen  bottle  of 
wine  and  a  piece  of  bread,  on  the  bare  board. 
Each  drew  a  cup,  a  knife,  fork,  and  wooden 
spoon  from  a  drawer  under  the  table ;  the  at 
tendant  lay  brothers  placed  a  bowl  of  singular- 
looking  soup  before  each,  and  they  eat  in  lugu 
brious  silence.  The  superior  of  the  order  sat  at 
the  upper  end  of  the  hall  —  a  large  and  power 
ful  man,  who  looked  sterner,  if  possible,  than  his 
inferiors.  We,  who  sat  at  another  table,  were 
differently  served  —  with  rice,  eggs,  fish,  and 
fruit.  No  one  spoke,  but  from  a  pulpit  above 
a  monk  read  at  the  top  of  his  lungs  from  a  book 
of  religious  precepts  in  that  peculiar  drawling 
tone  which  the  Catholics  employ  in  their  exer 
cises.  There  was,  apparently,  little  fructifica 
tion  in  the  minds  of  his  hearers.  The  monks  eat 
and  scowled ;  the  laymen  eat  and  smiled  at 
each  other,  exchanging  looks  of  meaning,  though 
not  a  word  passed  between  them.  There  were 
among  them  men  of  every  age  and  of  various 
conditions,  from  the  field  laborer  to  the  gentle 
man  of  good  birth.  The  meal  concluded  with  a 
prayer  and  the  growling  responses  of  the  Pas- 
sionists,  who  then  filed  off  through  the  galleries 
to  their  dens,  looking  like  the  living  originals  of 


100  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

the  black  pictures  that  hang  along  the  white 
washed  walls. 

A  monk  has  just  been  here,  trying  to  convert 
me,  but  was  not  so  good  a  hand  at  argument,  or 
sophistry,  as  the  Jesuits.  I  told  him  that  he 
could  do  nothing  with  me,  but  he  persisted, 
clapping  his  hand  on  my  knee  and  exclaiming, 
44  Ah,  fglio,  you  will  be  a  good  Catholic,  no 
doubt."  There  was  a  queer  sort  of  joviality  about 
him.  He  kept  offering  me  his  snuff-box,  and 
when  he  thought  he  had  made  a  good  hit  iii 
argument,  he  would  wink  at  me,  with  a  most 
comical  expression,  as  if  to  say,  "you  see  you 
can't  come  round  me  with  your  heresy."  He 
gave  over  at  the  ringing  of  a  bell  which  sum 
moned  us  to  new  readings  and  lecturings  in  the 
chapel,  after  which  we  were  turned  out  into  the 
garden  of  the  convent,  where  we  lounged  along 
walks  shaded  with  olives  and  oleanders.  Padre 
Lucca,  the  directing  priest,  talked  over  matters 
of  faith  to  me.  He  was  an  exception  to  the  rest 
of  the  establishment  —  plump  and  well-fed,  with 
a  double  chin  like  a  bull-frog,  and  a  most  con 
tented  and  good-humored  countenance. 

After  supper  to-night  some  of  the  Italians 
in  the  conversazione  expressed  great  sympathy 
for  my  miserable  state  of  heresy  :  one  of  them, 
with  true  charity,  according  to  his  light,  said 
that  he  would  pray  to  the  Virgin,  who  could  do 
all  things,  to  show  me  the  truth.  The  whole 
community  assembled  to  vespers.  The  dark  and 
crowded  chapel  fairly  shook  with  the  din  of 
more  than  a  hundred  manly  voices  chanting  the 
service. 


NAPLES  AND  ROME  101 

There  is  nothing  gloomy  and  morose  in  the 
religion  of  these  Italians  here,  no  camp-meeting 
long  faces.  They  talk  and  laugh  gayly  in  the  in 
tervals  allowed  them  for  conversation  ;  but  when 
the  occasion  calls  it  forth,  they  speak  of  religion 
with  an  earnestness,  as  well  as  a  cheerfulness, 
that  shows  that  it  has  a  hold  on  their  hearts. 

Saturday.  This  morning,  among  the  rest,  they 
went  through  the  Exercise  of  the  Via  Crucis, 
which  consists  in  moving  in  a  body  around  the 
chapel,  where  are  suspended  pictures,  fourteen 
in  number,  representing  different  scenes  in  the 
passion  of  Christ.  Before  each  of  these  they 
stop,  the  priest  reads  the  appropriate  prayer 
and  expressions  of  contrition  from  the  book,  re 
peats  a  Pater  Noster,  etc.,  and  so  they  make  a 
circuit  of  the  whole.  I  saw  the  same  ceremony, 
on  a  larger  scale,  in  the  Coliseum,  without  know 
ing  what  it  was. 

A  thin,  hollow-eyed  father  tried  to  start  my 
heresy  this  morning,  but  was  horrified  at  the 
enormity  of  my  disbelief ;  and  when  I  told  him 
that  I  belonged  to  a  Unitarian  family,  he  rolled 
up  his  bloodshot  eyes  in  their  black  sockets,  and 
stretched  his  skinny  neck  out  of  his  cowl,  like  a 
turtle  basking  on  a  stone  in  summer.  He  gave 
me  a  little  brass  medal  of  the  Virgin  with  a 
kind  of  prayer  written  on  it.  This  medal  he 
begged  me  to  wear  round  my  neck,  and  to  re 
peat  two  or  three  Aves  now  and  then.  It  was 
by  this  means,  he  said,  that  Ratisbon  the  Jew 
was  converted,  not  long  since ;  who,  though  he 
wore  the  medal  and  repeated  the  Aves  merely  to 
get  rid  of  the  importunities  of  a  Catholic  friend, 


102  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

yet  nevertheless  was  favored  with  a  miraculous 
vision  of  the  Virgin,  whereupon  he  fell  on  his 
knees  and  was  joined  to  the  number  of  the  Faith 
ful.  I  told  the  monk  that  I  would  wear  the  medal 
if  he  wished  me  to,  but  should  not  repeat  the 
Aves ;  so  I  have  it  now  round  my  neck,  greatly 
to  his  satisfaction.  [This  medal  Parkman  kept 
all  his  life.]  Miracles,  say  all  the  Catholics  here, 
happen  frequently  nowadays.  The  other  day  a 
man  was  raised  to  life  who  had  just  died  in  con 
sumption,  and  now  is  walking  the  streets  in  com 
plete  health ! 

These  Italians  have  come  to  the  seclusion  of 
this  convent  in  order  that  their  minds  may  not 
be  distracted  by  contact  with  the  world,  and  that 
the  religious  sentiments  may  grow  up  unimpeded 
and  receive  all  possible  nutriment  from  the  con 
stant  exercises  in  which  they  are  engaged.  It  is 
partly,  also,  with  the  intention  of  preparing  them 
for  the  General  Confession.  It  is  only  for  a  few 
days  in  the  year  that  any  are  here.  Their  "  ex 
ercises  "  are  characteristic  of  the  Church.  The 
forms  of  prayer  are  all  written  down  :  they  read, 
repeat,  and  sing.  Very  little  time  is  allowed  them 
for  private  examinations  and  meditations,  and 
even  in  these  they  are  directed  by  a  printed  card 
hung  in  each  of  the  rooms,  and  containing  a  list 
of  the  subjects  on  which  they  ought  to  examine 
themselves,  together  with  a  form  of  contrition  to 
be  repeated  by  them.  The  sermons  and  readings 
are  full  of  pictures  of  Christ's  sufferings,  exhorta 
tions  to  virtue,  etc.,  but  contain  not  a  syllable  of 
doctrine.  One  of  the  first  in  the  printed  list  of 
questions  which  the  self-examiner  is  to  ask  him- 


NAPLES  AND  ROME  103 

self  is,  "  Have  I  ever  dared  to  inquire  into  the 
mysteries  of  the  Faith?" 

Sunday.  This  is  Palm  Sunday,  the  first  day  of 
the  famous  Settimana  Santa,  —  the  Holy  Week. 
I  determined  to  get  out  of  the  convent  and  see 
what  was  going  on.  The  day  and  night  previous 
I  had  worn  the  medal,  but  had  no  vision  of  the 
Virgin,  —  at  least  of  Santissima  Maria.  Padre 
Lucca  was  unfeignedly  sorry  to  have  me  go  with 
unimpaired  prospects  of  damnation.  He  said  he 
still  had  hopes  of  me;  and  taking  the  kindest 
leave  of  me,  gave  me  a  book  of  Catholic  devo 
tions,  which  I  shall  certainly  keep  in  remem 
brance  of  a  very  excellent  man.  He  looked  at 
the  book  I  had  been  reading  the  night  before, 
and  expressed  his  approbation,  —  it  was  a  life  of 
Blessed  Paul  of  the  Cross,  detailing  among  other 
matters  how  the  apostle  hated  women  with  a  holy 
and  religious  hatred,  justly  regarding  them  as 
types  of  the  devil,  and  fountains  of  unbounded 
evil  to  the  sons  of  men ;  and  how,  when  women 
were  near,  he  never  raised  his  eyes  from  the 
ground,  but  continually  repeated  Pater  Nosters 
that  the  malign  influence  might  be  averted. 

When  I  got  into  the  fresh  air  I  felt  rather 
glad  to  be  free  of  the  gloomy  galleries  and  cells, 
which,  nevertheless,  contain  so  much  to  be  ad 
mired.1  .  .  . 

I  heard  it  computed  that  there  are  forty  thou 
sand  strangers  in  Rome,  which  must,  however, 
be  a  great  exaggeration.  The  English  are  the 
most  numerous,  esteemed,  and  beloved  as  usual. 

1  Cf.  "  A  Convent  at  Rome,"  Harper's  New  Monthly  Maga 
zine,  August,  1890. 


104  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

One  of  them,  standing  in  St.  Peter's,  before  the 
ceremony  yesterday,  civilly  exclaimed, "  How  long 
does  this  damned  Pope  expect  us  to  stand  here 
waiting  for  him  !  "  A  priest  who  spoke  English 
reminded  him  that,  since  he  had  come  to  Rome, 
it  was  hoped  that  he  would  conform  to  the  usages, 
or  at  least  refrain  from  insulting  the  feelings  of 
those  around.  The  Englishman  answered  by  an 
insolent  stare ;  then  turning  his  back,  he  said, 
44  The  English  own  Rome  !  " 

FBANK    TO    HIS    MOTHER. 

ROME,  April  5,  '44. 

DEAR  MOTHER,  —  ...  We  are  in  the  midst 
of  the  fooleries  of  Holy  Week.  To-night  the 
Pope  took  a  mop,  and  washed  the  high  altar,  in 
the  presence  of  some  ten  thousand  people.  .  .  . 
I  have  been  spending  a  few  days  in  a  convent  of 
the  monks  called  Passionists.  ...  I  find  that 
though  I  am  very  well  indeed  in  other  respects, 
there  has  not  been  any  great  change  in  the  dif 
ficulty  that  brought  me  out  here.  ...  I  have 
resolved  to  go  to  Paris  and  see  Dr.  Louis,  the 
head  of  his  profession  in  the  world,  and  see  if  he 
can  do  anything  for  me.  ...  I  have  been  a  per 
fect  anchorite  here,  have  given  up  wine,  etc., 
and  live  at  present  on  40  cents  a  day  for  pro 
visions  —  so  if  I  do  not  thrash  the  enemy  at 
last,  it  will  not  be  my  fault.  .  .  .  Here  are  four 
thousand  English  in  Rome  and  they  are  tolerably 
hated  by  the  Italians,  while  we  sixty  or  seventy 
Americans  seem,  I  am  happy  to  say,  liked  and 
esteemed  everywhere.  .  .  . 

Yours,  FRANK. 


CHAPTER  XI 

FROM  FLORENCE  TO  EDINBURGH 

THE  next  day  I  left  Rome  for  Florence,  in  the 
diligence  —  and  left  it  with  much  regret,  and 
a  hope  to  return.  A  young  American  named 
Marquand  went  with  me.  .  .  . 

I  went  to  the  studio  of  Powers  the  sculptor,  a 
noble-looking  fellow  and  a  wonderful  artist.  I 
have  seen  Florence  —  that  is,  I  have  had  a  glance 
at  everything  there,  but  one  might  stay  with 
pleasure  for  months.  Its  peculiar  architecture 
and  its  romantic  situation  make  it  striking 
enough  at  first  sight,  but  the  interest  increases, 
instead  of  diminishing.  It  is  impossible  to  have 
seen  enough  of  its  splendid  picture  galleries,  gar 
dens,  and  museums. 

On  Wednesday  I  left  Florence,  unsatisfied, 
but  unable  to  stay  longer.  After  all,  I  shall  not 
see  Granada  —  at  least  for  some  years,  thanks 
to  the  cursed  injury  that  brought  me  to  Europe  ; 
for  as  I  find  no  great  improvement,  I  judge  it 
best  to  see  what  a  French  doctor  can  do  for  me, 
instead  of  running  about  Spain. 

At  ten  in  the  evening  we  left  Parma.  At  five 
in  the  morning  we  were  at  Piacenza.  Here  we 
stopped  an  hour  or  two.  Here  again  the  strik 
ing  difference  between  the  towns  of  northern 


106  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

and  southern  Italy  was  manifested.  The  people 
looked  as  grave  and  solemn  as  the  brick  fronts 
of  the  palaces  and  churches.  .  .  . 

We  crossed  the  Po,  by  a  wretched  bridge  of 
boats,  and  entered  Lombardy  and  the  domains 
of  Austria.  The  black  eagle  of  Austria  was 
painted  above  the  guard-house,  on  the  farther 
bank,  where  a  dozen  sullen-looking  soldiers  loi 
tered  about.  There  was  a  barrack  of  them  near 
the  custom-house,  where  we  must  stop  an  hour 
and  a  half  to  be  searched,  and  to  pay  the  fellows 
for  doing  it.  After  that  we  rode  all  day  through 
a  beautiful  and  fertile  country,  passing  through 
Lodi,  the  scene  of  Bonaparte's  victory,  till  at 
night  we  entered  Milan,  saturated  with  dust. 

As  for  the  city,  it  is  well  enough.  The  people 
are  different  in  appearance,  in  manners,  in  lan 
guage,  and  in  habits,  from  the  southern  Italians. 
The  women  are  all  out  sunning  themselves ; 
whole,  flights  of  them  came  out  of  the  Cathedral, 
with  little  black  veils  flung  over  their  heads,  and 
mass  books  in  their  hands.  Their  faces  and  fig 
ures  are  round  and  rich  —  of  the  fiery  black  eye 
of  Rome  I  have  seen  nothing ;  their  eyes  are 
blue  and  soft,  and  have  rather  a  drowsy  meek 
expression,  and  they  look  excessively  modest. 

This  morning,  when  the  whole  city  was  quiet, 
the  shops  shut  in  honor  of  Sunday,  the  people 
issuing  from  the  Cathedral,  gentlemen  walking 
listlessly  about,  and  porters  and  contadini  sitting 
idle  at  the  edge  of  the  sidewalks.  There  was  a 
group  of  gentlemen  taking  their  coffee  under 
awnings  in  front  of  each  of  the  caffes  on  the 
piazza  before  the  Cathedral.  This  vagabond  way 


FROM  FLORENCE  TO  EDINBURGH       107 

of  breakfasting  and  seeing  the  world  at  the 
same  time  is  very  agreeable.  There  is  no  place 
where  you  can  be  more  independent  than  in  one 
of  these  cities ;  when  you  are  hungry  there  is 
always  a  restaurant  and  a  dinner  at  a  moment's 
notice,  when  you  are  thirsty  there  is  always  a 
caffe  at  hand.  If  you  are  sleepy,  your  room 
awaits  you,  a  dozen  sneaking  waiters  are  ready 
at  your  bidding,  and  glide  about  like  shadows  to 
do  what  you  may  require,  in  hope  of  your  shil 
ling  when  you  go  away.  But  give  me  Ethan 
Crawford,  or  even  Tom,  in  place  of  the  whole 
race  of  waiters  and  gardens.  I  would  ask  their 
pardon  for  putting  them  in  the  same  sentence, 
if  they  were  here. 

A  funeral  procession  filed  into  the  Cathedral, 
each  priest,  layman,  woman,  and  child  with  an 
enormous  wax  candle  in  hand.  The  noble  chapel, 
at  the  left  extremity  of  the  transept,  was  hung 
with  black  for  the  occasion  —  the  coffin  was 
placed  in  the  midst,  and  the  ceremonies  were 
performed.  The  priests  seemed  not  fairly  awake. 
One  fat  bull-frog  of  a  fellow  would  growl  out 
of  his  throat  his  portion  of  the  holy  psalmody, 
interrupting  himself  in  some  interesting  conver 
sation  with  his  neighbor,  and  resuming  it  again 
as  soon  as  the  religious  office  was  performed. 
Another  would  gape  and  yawn  in  the  midst  of 
his  musical  performances,  another  would  walk 
about  looking  at  the  people,  or  the  coffin,  or  the 
kneeling  women,  singing  meanwhile  with  the 
most  supreme  indifference  and  content  on  his 
fat  countenance.  I  could  imagine  the  subject  of 
their  conversation,  as  they  walked  out  in  a 


108  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

double  file,  leaving  the  coffin  to  the  care  of  the 
proper  officials,  after  they  had  grunted  a  con 
cluding  anthem  over  it.  "  Well,  we  've  fixed  this 
fellow's  soul  for  him.  It  was  a  nasty  job  ;  but 
it 's  over  now.  Come !  won't  you  take  something 
to  drink?"  [The  foregoing  quotation  and  some 
others  that  I  shall  make  to  indicate  the  ginger 
and  spice  of  his  character,  must  be  read  with 
the  recollection  that  they  are  the  hasty  jottings 
of  a  young  man  who  was  writing  in  his  private 
notebook,  never  expecting  them  to  be  seen.  If 
we  were  to  misinterpret  these  sallies  unfairly 
even  for  a  moment,  we  should  do  injustice  to  the 
reasonableness  of  his  character.  Had  he  spoken 
then,  his  smile  would  have  dispelled  any  misun 
derstanding.] 

I  used  to  like  priests,  and  take  my  hat  off  and 
make  a  low  bow,  half  in  sport  and  half  in  ear 
nest,  whenever  I  met  them,  but  I  have  got  to 
despise  the  fellows.  Yet  I  have  met  admirable 
men  among  them ;  and  have  always  been  treated 
by  them  all  with  the  utmost  civility  and  atten 
tion. 

I  write  on  the  Lake  of  Como,  with  three 
women,  a  boy,  and  four  men  looking  over  my 
shoulder,  but  they  cannot  read  English. 

I  have  seen  nothing,  at  home  or  abroad,  more 
beautiful  than  this  lake.  It  reminds  me  of  Lake 
George  —  the  same  extent,  the  same  figure,  the 
same  crystal  purity  of  waters,  the  same  wild 
and  beautiful  mountains  on  either  side.  But  the 
comparison  will  not  go  farther.  Here  are  a  hun 
dred  palaces  and  villages  scattered  along  the 
water's  edge  and  up  the  declivities.  .  .  .  All 


FROM  FLORENCE  TO  EDINBURGH   109 

here  is  like  a  finished  picture ;  even  the  wildest 
rocks  seem  softened  in  the  air  of  Italy.  Give  me 
Lake  George,  and  the  smell  of  the  pine  and 
fir! 

(Andeer.)  I  stopped  here,  and  will  stay  here 
several  days.  Nothing  could  surpass  the  utter 
savageness  of  the  scenery  that  you  find  by  tracing 
up  some  of  the  little  streams  that  pour  down 
on  all  sides  to  join  the  Rhine  —  not  a  trace  of 
human  hand  —  it  is  as  wild  as  the  back-forests 
at  home.  The  mountains,  too,  wear  the  same 
aspect. 

.  .  .  Here  was  a  change,  with  a  vengeance, 
from  the  Italian  beauties  of  the  Lake  of  Como ! 
I  sat  on  the  rock,  fancying  myself  again  in  the 
American  woods  with  an  Indian  companion,  but 
as  I  rose  to  go  away  the  hellish  beating  of  my 
heart  warned  me  that  no  more  such  expeditions 
were  in  store  for  me  —  for  the  present,  at  least ; 
but  if  I  do  not  sleep  by  the  camp-fire  again,  it 
shall  be  no  fault  of  mine.  .  .  . 

(Zurich.)  The  Germans  lighted  their  pipes 
with  their  flint  and  steel,  and,  stretching  out 
their  legs  and  unbuttoning  their  coats,  disposed 
themselves  to  take  their  ease.  Here  was  none  of 
the  painful  dignity  which  an  Englishman  thinks 
it  incumbent  upon  him  to  assume  throughout 
his  travels  —  no  kneepans  aching  with  the  strain 
of  tight  strapped  pantaloons,  no  neck  half  severed 
by  the  remorseless  edge  of  a  starched  dickey.  .  .  . 

The  journey  to  Paris  occupies  two  days.  Yes 
terday  morning,  looking  from  the  window,  I  saw 
an  ocean  of  housetops  stretching  literally  to  the 
very  horizon.  We  entered  the  gate,  but  rode  for 


110  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

nearly  an  hour  through  the  streets  before  we 
reached  the  diligence  office.  Then  I  went  to  the 
Tuileries,  the  Palais  Royal,  the  Boulevard  des 
Italiens,  and  the  Place  Vendorne.  "  Let  envious 
Englishmen  sneer  as  they  will,"  I  thought,  "  this 
is  the  '  Athens  of  Modern  Europe.'  " 

I  had  called  on  my  uncle  [Mr.  Samuel  Park- 
man]  ,  and  found  him  not  at  home.  He  called  on 
me  with  the  same  fortune,  but  left  a  note  direct 
ing  me  to  be  at  a  celebrated  cafe  at  a  certain 
time,  where  he  was  to  be  distinguished  by  a 
white  handkerchief  in  his  hand.  I  found  him 
there,  and  went  with  him  to  a  ball  at  the  Champs 
Elysees. 

Boulogne,  May  16th.  I  have  been  a  fortnight 
in  Paris,  and  seen  it  as  well  as  it  can  be  seen  in 
a  fortnight.  Under  peculiarly  favorable  circum 
stances,  too ;  for  it  was  the  great  season  of  balls 
and  gayeties,  and  I  had  a  guide,  moreover,  who 
knows  Paris  from  top  to  bottom,  within  and 
without.  .  .  . 

When  I  got  to  London,  I  thought  I  had  been 
there  before.  There,  in  flesh  and  blood,  was  the 
whole  host  of  characters  that  figure  in  Pickwick. 
Every  species  of  cockney  was  abroad  in  the  dark 
and  dingy  looking  streets,  all  walking  with  their 
heads  stuck  forward,  their  noses  turned  up,  their 
chin  pointing  down,  their  knee-joints  shaking, 
as  they  shuffled  along  with  a  gait  perfectly  ludi 
crous,  but  indescribable.  The  hackney  coachmen 
and  cabmen,  with  their  peculiar  phraseology,  the 
walking  advertisements  in  the  shape  of  a  boy 
completely  hidden  between  two  placards,  and  a 
hundred  others  seemed  so  many  incarnations 


FROM  FLORENCE  TO  EDINBURGH       111 

of  Dickens'  characters.  A  strange  contrast  to 
Paris  !  The  cities  are  no  more  alike  than  the 
"  dining  room  "  of  London  and  the  elegant  res 
taurant  of  Paris,  the  one  being  a  quiet  dingy 
establishment  where  each  guest  is  put  into  a  box 
and  supplied  with  porter,  beef,  potatoes,  and 
plum-pudding.  Eed-faced  old  gentlemen  of  three 
hundred  weight  mix  their  "  brandy  go  "  and  read 
the  "  Times."  In  Paris  the  tables  are  set  in  ele 
gant  galleries  and  saloons,  and  among  the  trees 
and  flowers  of  a  garden,  and  here  resort  coats  cut 
by  the  first  tailors  and  bonnets  of  the  latest  mode, 
whose  occupants  regale  their  delicate  tastes  on 
the  lightest  and  most  delicious  viands.  The  wait 
ers  spring  from  table  to  table  as  noiselessly  as 
shadows,  prompt  at  the  slightest  sign ;  a  lady, 
elegantly  attired,  sits  within  an  arbor  to  preside 
over  the  whole.  Dine  at  these  places,  then  go  to 
a  London  "  dining  room  "  —  swill  porter  and  de 
vour  roast  beef ! 

I  went  immediately  to  Catlin's  Indian  Gallery. 
It  is  in  the  Egyptian  Hall,  Piccadilly.  There  was 
a  crowd  around  the  door  ;  servants  in  livery 
waiting  ;  men  with  handbills  of  the  exhibition 
for  sale ;  cabmen,  boys,  and  pickpockets.  I  was 
rejoicing  in  Mr.  Catlin's  success,  when  the  true 
point  of  attraction  caught  my  eye,  in  the  shape 
of  a  full-length  portrait  of  Major  Tom  Thumb, 
the  celebrated  American  dwarf,  who  it  seems 
occupies  the  Indian  Gallery  for  the  present.  I 
paid  my  shilling  and  went  in.  The  little  wretch 
was  singing  Yankee  Doodle  with  a  voice  like  a 
smothered  mouse,  and  prancing  about  on  a  table, 
a  la  Jeffrey  Hudson,  with  a  wooden  sword  in  his 


112  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

hand  ;  a  great  crowd  of  cockneys  and  gentlemen 
and  ladies  were  contemplating  bis  evolutions. 
But  for  the  Indian  Gallery,  its  glory  had  de 
parted  ;  it  had  evidently  ceased  to  be  a  lion. 
The  portraits  of  the  chiefs,  dusty  and  faded,  hung 
round  the  walls,  and  above  were  a  few  hunting 
shirts  and  a  bundle  or  two  of  arrows ;  but  the 
rich  and  invaluable  collection  I  had  seen  in  Bos 
ton  had  disappeared,  and  no  one  thought  of  look 
ing  at  the  poor  remains  of  that  great  collection 
that  were  hung  about  the  walls.  Catlin  had  done 
right.  He  would  not  suffer  the  fruits  of  his 
six  years'  labor  and  danger  to  rot  in  the  damp 
ness  to  gratify  a  few  miserable  cockneys,  so  has 
packed  up  the  best  part  of  his  trophies.  .  .  . 

St.  Paul's,  which  the  English  ridiculously  com 
pare  to  St.  Peter's,  is  without  exception  the  dir 
tiest  and  gloomiest  church  I  have  been  in  yet. 
I  went  up  to  the  ball  at  the  top  of  the  cupola, 
whence  the  prospect  is  certainly  a  most  wonder 
ful  one.  .  .  . 

Walk  out  in  the  evening,  and  keep  a  yard  or 
two  behind  some  wretched  clerk,  who  with  nose 
elevated  in  the  air,  elbows  stuck  out  at  right 
angles,  and  the  pewter  knob  of  his  cane  playing 
upon  his  under  lip,  is  straddling  his  bow  legs 
over  the  sidewalk  with  a  most  majestic  air.  Get 
behind  him,  and  you  see  his  dignity  greatly  dis 
turbed.  First  he  glances  over  one  of  his  narrow 
shoulders,  then  over  the  other,  then  he  edges  off 
to  the  other  side  of  the  walk,  and  turns  his  va 
cant  lobster  eyes  full  upon  you,  then  he  passes 
his  hand  over  his  coat-tail,  and  finally  he  draws 
forth  from  his  pocket  the  object  of  all  this  solici- 


FROM  FLORENCE  TO  EDINBURGH      113 

tude  in  the  shape  of  a  venerable  and  ragged  cot 
ton  handkerchief,  which  he  holds  in  his  hand  to 
keep  it  out  of  harm's  way.  I  have  been  thus 
taken  for  a  pickpocket  more  than  a  dozen  times 
to-night,  not  the  less  so  for  being  respectably 
dressed,  for  these  gentry  are  the  most  dashy  men 
on  the  Strand. 

There  is  an  interesting  mixture  of  vulgarity 
and  helplessness  in  the  swarm  of  ugly  faces  you 
see  in  the  streets  —  meagre,  feeble,  ill-propor 
tioned,  or  not  proportioned  at  all,  the  blockheads 
must  needs  put  on  a  game  air  and  affect  the 
"  man  of  the  world  "  in  their  small  way.  I  have 
not  met  one  handsome  woman  yet,  though  I  have 
certainly  walked  more  than  fifty  miles  since  I 
have  been  here,  and  have  kept  my  eyes  open. 
To  be  sure,  the  weather  has  been  raw  and  chill 
enough  to  keep  beauty  at  home.  Elsewhere  Eng- 
glishmen  are  tall,  strong,  and  manly ;  here,  the 
crowd  that  swarms  through  the  streets  are  like 
the  outcasts  of  a  hospital.  .  .  . 

I  spent  seven  or  eight  days  in  London.  On 
the  eighth  day  I  went  up  the  river  to  Richmond 
in  a  steamboat,  with  a  true  cockney  pleasure 
party  on  board,  whose  evolutions  were  very  en 
tertaining.  .  .  . 

I  got  into  the  cars  one  night  —  having  sent  my 
trunks  to  Liverpool  —  and  found  myself  in  the 
morning  at  Darlington,  nearly  three  hundred 
miles  distant.  Thence  I  took  stage  for  Carlisle, 
famous  in  Border  story. 

I  went  away  at  four  in  the  morning  for  Ab- 
botsford.  We  were  in  the  region  where  one 
thinks  of  nothing  but  of  Scott,  and  of  the  themes 


114  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

which  he  has  rendered  so  familiar  to  the  whole 
world.  The  Cheviot  was  on  our  right  —  the 
Teviot  hills  before  us.  The  wind  came  down 
from  them  raw  and  cold,  and  the  whole  sky  was 
obscured  with  stormy  clouds.  I  thought  as  we 
left  the  town  of  the  burden  of  one  of  his  ballads  : 
"  The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall."  It  was 
little  applicable  now.  The  ancient  fortification 
looked  sullen  and  cheerless  as  tottering  battle 
ments  and  black  crumbling  walls,  beneath  a  sky 
as  dark  and  cold  as  themselves,  could  make  it.  I 
was  prepared  for  storms  and  a  gloomy  day,  but 
soon  the  clouds  parted  and  the  sun  broke  out 
clear  over  the  landscape.  The  dark  heathery 
sides  of  Teviot  —  the  numberless  bright  rapid 
streams  that  came  from  the  different  glens,  and 
the  woods  of  ash,  larch,  and  birch  that  followed 
their  course,  and  grew  on  the  steeper  declivities 
of  the  hills  —  never  could  have  appeared  to  more 
advantage.  Esk  and  Liddel,  Yarrow,  the  Teviot, 
Minto  Crag,  Ettrick  Forest,  Branksome  Castle, 
—  these  and  more  likewise  we  passed  before  we 
reached  the  Tweed  and  saw  Abbotsford  on  its 
banks  among  the  forests  planted  by  Scott  him 
self.  I  left  my  luggage  at  the  inn  at  Galashiels, 
telling  the  landlord  that  I  was  going  away,  and 
might  return  at  night,  or  might  not.  I  visited 
Abbotsford,  Melrose,  and  Dryburgh  —  and  con 
sider  the  day  better  spent  than  the  whole  four 
months  I  was  in  Sicily  and  Italy.  I  slept  at  Mel- 
rpse,  and  returned  to  Galashiels  in  the  morning. 
I  like  the  Scotch  —  I  like  the  country  and 
everything  in  it.  The  Liverpool  packet  will 
not  wait,  or  I  should  stay  long  here,  and  take  a 


FROM  FLORENCE  TO  EDINBURGH   115 

trout  from  every  "burnie  "  in  the  Cheviot.  The 
scenery  has  been  grossly  belied  by  Irving  and 
others.  It  is  wild  and  beautiful.  I  have  seen 
none  more  so.  There  is  wood  enough  along  the 
margins  of  the  streams  (which  are  as  transparent 
as  our  own);  the  tops  of  the  hills  alone  are  bare. 
The  country  abounds  in  game,  pheasants,  moor 
cock,  curlew,  and  rabbits.  .  .  . 

I  walked  up  Arthur's  Seat,  passing  the  spot 
where  Jeanie  Deans  had  her  interview  with  her 
sister's  seducer,  and,  when  I  arrived  at  the  top, 
looking  [sic]  down  on  the  site  of  her  father's 
cottage.  Under  the  crags  here  is  the  place  where 
Scott  and  James  Ballantyne  used  to  sit  when 
boys  and  read  and  make  romances  together. 
Edinburgh,  half  wrapped  in  smoke,  lies  many 
hundred  feet  below,  seen  beyond  the  ragged  pro 
jecting  edge  of  Salisbury  Crag,  the  castle  rising 
obscurely  in  the  extreme  distance.  .  .  . 

Frank  was  obliged  to  hurry  off  to  Liverpool, 
where  he  went  aboard  the  packet  Acadia,  and 
after  an  uneventful  voyage,  during  which  he 
amused  himself  with  a  little  satire  upon  some 
fellow  passengers,  notably  my  lord  bishop  of 
Newfoundland,  returned  safely  home. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A   MAKE-BELIEVE   LAW    STUDENT 

FRANK  landed  about  June  20th,  took  his  degree 
of  A.  B.,  and  attended  a  senior  class  supper,  at 
which  we  do  not  know  whether  he  used  the 
temperance  ticket  for  $2.12|,  or  the  wine  ticket 
for  $4.62|.  Off  he  went  again  in  the  beginning 
of  July  with  a  little  green  notebook  about  as 
large  as  a  porte-monnaie  in  his  pocket,  which 
he  brought  back  filled  with  notes,  descriptions, 
memoranda,  reflections.  Conscious  of  his  bach 
elorhood  in  arts,  of  a  philosophic  superiority  to 
youth  and  folly,  and  dignified  by  a  sense  of  a 
horizon  stretching  from  Palermo  to  Edinburgh, 
he  begins  in  fragmentary,  critical  mood :  — 

The  traveler  in  Europe.  Art,  nature,  history 
combine.  In  America  art  has  done  her  best  to 
destroy  nature  —  association,  nothing.  Her  for 
mer  state.  Her  present  matter  of  fact.  .  .  . 

July  4,  '44.  The  celebration  at  Concord.  The 
admirable  good  humor  of  the  people  in  the  cars 
during  some  very  vexatious  delays  was  remark 
able.  Some  young  men  sang  songs  and  amused 


A  MAKE-BELIEVE  LAW  STUDENT     117 

themselves  with  jokes,  among  whom  my  former 
schoolmate  was  conspicuous.  In  spite  of  the  cold 
ness  attributed  to  the  Am.  character,  he  seems 
to  play  the  rowdy  with  all  his  heart,  and  as  if 
he  considered  it  the  height  of  glory. 

The  cheerfulness,  the  spirit  of  accommodation 
and  politeness  was  extraordinary.  Perfect  order, 
in  the  most  difficult  evolutions  of  the  day.  An 
hundred  soldiers  would  not  in  Europe  have  as 
sured  such  quiet  and  unanimity.  Some  young 
men  exhibited  a  good  deal  of  humor  and  of 
knowledge,  in  their  observations,  and  I  remem 
bered  that  this  is  our  lowest  class.  This  orderly, 
enthusiastic,  and  intelligent  body  is  the  nearest 
approach  to  the  peasantry  of  Europe.  If  we  have 
not  the  courtly  polish  of  the  European  upper  cir 
cles,  the  absence  of  their  stupid  and  brutal  pea 
santry  is  a  fair  offset.  .  .  . 

Students  of  H.  [Harvard]  do  not  on  all  occa 
sions  appear  much  better  than  their  less  favored 
countrymen,  either  in  point  of  gentlemanly  and 
distingue  appearance  or  in  conversation.  .  .  . 

The  discussion  on  Fourierism,  etc.,  of  the  she- 
philosophers  of  W.  Roxbury.  Their  speculations, 
and  the  whole  atmosphere  of  that  heart  of  new 
philosophy,  were  very  striking  and  amusing  after 
seeing  the  manners  of  Paris  and  London,  —  the 
entertainments  and  pleasures  and  the  workings 
of  passions  which  they  in  their  retirement  seem 
scarce  to  dream  of.  ... 

England  has  her  hedges  and  her  smooth  green 
hills,  robed  [?]  with  a  spirit  of  power  and  worth, 
strengthened  and  sanctioned  by  ages  ;  but  give 
me  the  rocky  hillside,  the  shaggy  cedar  and  scrub- 


118  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

oak,  the  wide  reach  of  uncultivated  landscape,  the 
fiery  glare  of  the  sun  ...  its  wild  and  ruddy 
light.  All  is  new,  all  is  rough,  no  charm  of  the 
familiar.  Fierce  savages  have  roamed  like  beasts 
amid  its  rugged  scenery ;  there  was  a  day  of  strug 
gle,  and  they  have  passed  away,  and  a  race  of 
indomitable  men  have  succeeded  them.  .  .  . 

Kahant,  July  17th.  The  company  on  board  the 
steamboat  —  difference  in  silence  and  intelligence 
from  a  cackling  party.  The  man  with  the  model 
of  a  beehive,  Ohio.  .  .  .  The  traveled  fool,  set 
ting  his  name  in  the  bar  book  as  , 

Cosmopolite.  He  finds  some  improvements  here 
"very  creditable  to  the  town,"  of  which  he  is  a 
native.  He  imitates  English  dress  and  manners. 
The  dinner  party  was  various  and  far  from  dis 
tingue. 

Roland  Green,  Mansfield.  His  family  have 
relics  of  the  Indians. 

The  disagreeable  whining  manner  of  some 
vulgar  Yankee  girls. 

"  John  Norton's  Captivity,"  taken  at  a  fort  in 
Adams,  1746. 

Springfield.  The  independent  Yankee  whom 
I  spoke  to  about  his  failure  to  call  me.  In  Job's 
language  he  "  stood  right  up  to  it,"  giving  shot 
for  shot.  No  English  creeping. 

The  landlord  —  no  bowing. 
Montague.  —  Grape  shot  dug  up. 


A  MAKE-BELIEVE   LAW   STUDENT      119 

The  landlord  of  Chester  Factory,  sitting  cross- 
legged  on  his  chair,  took  no  notice  of  me  as  I 
came  in,  but  on  my  asking  if  the  landlord  was 
in,  he  said,  "  Yes,  here  I  be." 

.  .  .  An  American  landlord  does  not  trouble 
himself  to  welcome  his  guests.  He  lets  them  enter 
his  house,  and  sits  by  quite  indifferent.  He  seems 
rather  to  consider  himself  as  conferring  an  obli 
gation  in  anything  he  may  do  for  them. 

Stockbridge.  Maple  and  beech  have  followed 
the  fir  of  the  original  growth.  .  .  . 

Dr.  Partridge.  The  old  man  was  in  his  labo 
ratory,  bedroom,  etc.,  among  his  old  tables,  book 
cases,  etc.,  with  shelves  of  medicines,  and  scales 
suspended  hard  by.  He  is  about  94,  and  remem 
bered  Williams  [Capt.  Ephraim  Williams]  well, 
who  he  describes  as  a  large,  stout  man,  who  used 
often  to  visit  his  father,  and  take  him  on  his 
knee.  He  says  he  remembers  the  face  as  if  he 
saw  it  yesterday,  especially  the  swelling  of  the 
ruddy  cheeks.  His  father,  Colonel  Partridge, 
was  in  the  service,  and  despised  Abercrombie  as 
a  coward.  The  Dr.  remembers  seeing  a  thou 
sand  of  Abercrombie's  Highlanders  at  Hatfield 
or  some  other  town  where  they  were  billeted. 
Abercrombie  was  always  trembling  with  fear  of 
Indians,  and  sending  out  scouts  about  camp. 
When  Howe  fell,  Partridge,  the  Dr.  says,  was 
at  his  side,  and  his  lordship  said,  "  The  army 
has  no  leader,  and  is  defeated."  .  .  . 

Gt.  Barrington  .  .  .  Mt.  Washington  .  .  . 
Bash-a-Bish. 


120  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

The  hearty,  horse-swapping,  thumping  young 
Dutchman,  who  would  be  damned  if  he  cared  for 
anything  if  he  could  only  swap  off  his  old  wag 
ons  for  Jim  Fray's  colt.  .  .  . 

The  crouching,  cadaverous,  lank  old  man  with 
the  opium  for  his  rheumatic  wife.  .  .  .  The  Irish 
priest,  with  his  jovial  conversation  and  hints 
about  a  mitre.  [Here  follow  various  rumors 
concerning  letters,  journals,  remembrances,  tra 
ditions,  concerning  perhapses  and  may-be's,  con 
cerning  Capt.  Ephraim  Williams  and  Rogers 
the  Ranger,  all  clues  carefully  noted,  followed 
by  a  "  Nil  Desperandum"] 

The  two  girls  on  the  road  from  N.  Adams. 
One  of  them  was  a  mixture  of  all  the  mean  quali 
ties  of  her  sex  with  none  of  the  nobler.  She  was 
full  of  the  pettiest  envy,  spite,  jealousy,  and 
malice,  singularly  impudent  and  indelicate. 

"  Should  have  given  ye  a  pie  to-day,  but  ain't 
got  no  timber  to  make  'em." 

Then  follow  memoranda  of  books,  maps,  his 
tories,  memoirs,  travels,  letters,  papers,  pam 
phlets,  notes  from  a  French  MS.,  etc.,  ending 
with  a  reminder  to  be  at  Cambridge  on  the  third 
Wednesday  of  August. 

But  before  the  middle  of  September,  with 
another  neat  little  leather-tongued  notebook, 
he  went  off  to  Concord.  On  the  flyleaf  is  the 
note  "  Read  Dryden's  prose  "  and  also  a  copy 
of  a  plan  of  old  Fort  Mackinaw  made  by 


A  MAKE-BELIEVE   LAW   STUDENT      121 

Lieutenant  Whiting.  This  notebook  served  the 
purpose  of  a  spleen-valve,  for  in  the  midst  of 
historical  notes  and  references  are  interspersed 
very  caustic  descriptions  of  acquaintances  and 
companions.  It  would  be  unjust  to  think  that 
these  satirical  sketches  indicate  the  usual  pitch 
of  his  judgments.  A  lad  of  twenty-one  or  two, 
with  a  proud  resolution  hidden  in  his  breast,  with 
strong  ambition  and  high  purposes,  and  perhaps 
not  unmindful  of  certain  maidenly  opinions,  en 
tertained  at  Keene  and  Salem,  as  to  what  the 
world  and  young  men  should  be,  may  well  be 
forgiven  if  he  measures  his  fellows  by  exacting 
standards,  —  standards  to  which  he  endeavors  to 
conform  his  own  conduct.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
memory  of  a  girl  at  Keene  that  provoked  this 
little  irritation. 

Sunday,  Sept.  21.  Some  men  are  fools,  utter 
and  inexpressible  fools.  I  went  over  to  Dr.  Z's 
last  night  to  call  on  Miss  —  — .  Heaven  knows  I 
am  quite  indifferent  to  her  charms,  and  called 
merely  out  of  politeness,  not  caring  to  have  her 
think  I  slighted  her.  But  the  Dr.  in  the  con 
temptible  suspicion  that  he  is  full  of,  chose  to 
interpret  otherwise.  William  X  was  there,  whom 
I  allowed  to  converse  with  Miss  Y  while  I  talked 
with  the  Dr.'s  lady.  The  Dr.  watched  me,  though 
I  was  not  aware  of  it  at  the  time,  till  happening 
to  rise  to  take  a  bottle  of  cologne,  out  of  a  mere 
whim,  and  applying  some  of  it  to  my  handker- 


122  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

chief,  the  idiot  made  a  remark,  in  a  meaning 
tone,  about  "  long  walks "  in  the  evening.  He 
soon  after  asked  me  to  take  a  glass  of  wine,  say 
ing  that  it  would  make  me  feel  better.  He  whis 
pered  in  my  ear  that  X  would  go  soon  —  and  I 
better  stay.  What  could  I  do  or  say  ?  I  longed 
to  tell  him  the  true  state  of  my  feelings,  and 
above  all  what  I  thought  of  his  suspicious  imper 
tinence.  I  left  the  house  vexed  beyond  measure 
at  being  pitied  as  a  jealous  lover,  when  one  ob 
ject  of  my  visit  to  Miss  —  —  that  evening  was  to 
prove  to  her  and  the  rest  how  free  I  was  from 
the  influence  of  her  attractions.  Is  it  not  hard 
for  a  man  of  sense  to  penetrate  all  the  depths  of 
a  blockhead's  folly  ?  and  to  know  what  inter 
pretation  such  a  fellow  will  put  on  his  conduct  ? 
I  sent  him  a  letter  which  I  think  will  trouble  not 
a  little  his  jealous  and  suspicious  temper.  .  .  . 

L 's  freaks  ;  his  disgusting  habits  at  table  ; 

windows  broken  and  he  will  not  mend  them  ; 

goes  to  B 's  room,  looks  into  his  drawers, 

"  Hulloo,  you  Ve  got  some  gingerbread  !  "  invites 
himself  to  spend  the  evening  there  ;  stays  till 
morning,  and  sleeps  standing  against  the  wall, 
like  a  horse ! 

Neither  was  our  young  gentleman  very  broad- 
minded  :  — 

May  30,  1845.  A  great  meeting  of  the  Fou- 
rierites  in  Tremont  Chapel.  Most  of  them  were 
rather  a  mean  set  of  fellows  —  several  foreign 
ers  —  plenty  of  women,  none  pretty  —  there  was 
most  cordial  shaking  of  hands  and  mutual  con- 


A  MAKE-BELIEVE   LAW  STUDENT      123 

gratulations  before  the  meeting  'began.  A  dirty 
old  man  four  feet  high,  filthy  with  tobacco,  came 
and  sat  down  by  me  and  was  very  enthusiastic. 
He  thought  Mr.  Kipley,  who  made  the  opening 
speech,  "one  of  the  greatest  men  our  coun 
try  can  produce."  Kipley  was  followed  by  a 
stout  old  man ;  he  spoke  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  gave  nothing  but  statistics,  in  a 
very  dry  uninteresting  manner.  It  surprised  me 
to  see  these  old  fellows,  who  looked  like  any 
thing  but  enthusiasts,  attached  to  the  cause. 
H—  — ,  the  editor  from  N.  Y.,  spoke  in 

a  very  weak  indecisive  manner,  seemingly  afraid 
of  himself  and  his  audience.  .  .  .  Brisbane  and 
Dana  followed  in  a  pair  of  windy  speeches,  and 
Channing  was  beginning  a  ditto  when  I  came 
away.  They  say  that  there  is  a  system  of  laws 
by  which  the  world  is  to  be  governed  "  harmo 
niously,"  and  that  they  have  discovered  those 

laws.    F.  was  there   looking   much   more 

like  a  lunatic  or  a  beast  than  a  man. 

The  young  man  had  standards  of  his  own  ;  to 
his  thinking  there  were  certain  things  a  man 
should  endeavor  to  do,  certain  behaviors  to 
which  a  gentleman  must  conform ;  and  as  he 
was  endowed  with  a  masterful  quality  of  mind 
and  an  impatience  of  bad  work,  Frank  had  a 
youthful  tendency  to  abrupt  and  severe  judg 
ments  ;  of  which,  be  it  said,  there  is  not  a  trace 
in  his  history. 

At  Cambridge,  soon  after  the  summoning  bell 
of  the  third  Wednesday,  he  began  a  new  note- 


124  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

book,  not  of  the  holiday  kind  incased  in  green 
leather,  but  a  large  square  blue-covered  notebook 
intended  for  the  base  uses  of  grinds.  This  little 
book  proves  his  great  zeal  in  acquiring  know 
ledge  of  European  history.  Long  notes  from 
Gibbon  on  polytheism,  policy,  population,  roads, 
trade,  and  other  great  matters,  so  heavy  to  read, 
so  light  to  forget.  On  Gibbon's  heels  follow 
Robertson  and  the  Feudal  System,  then  Gibbon 
again,  who  had  not  been  finished  but  intermitted  ; 
after  him  de  Mably  and  Sismondi,  then  Gibbon 
back  again,  like  a  great  whale  coming  up  to 
breathe,  all  about  kings,  popes,  declines  of  this 
and  growths  of  that ;  then,  on  loose  and  separated 
pages  as  befitted  a  lesser  dignity,  hints  of  Polizi- 
ano  and  Savonarola.  Then  come  Sully,  Wraxall, 
Michelet,  glimpses  of  the  humanities,  and  so 
on  through  close  pages  of  abstracts  and  memo 
randa,  until  Notebook,  No.  2,  is  reached,  which 
to  the  reader's  relief  of  mind  is  dated  six  months 
later,  where  Frank  makes  a  headlong  plunge  into 
the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  and  all  for  the  sake  of 
a  background  for  Indian  and  coureur  de  bois. 
Macaulay,  von  Ranke,  Guizot,  Dunham,  Millot, 
Pfeffel,  Giannone  (unless  perchance  these  latter 
two  be  makers  and  not  writers  of  history),  pri 
mogeniture,  Salic  law,  patriotism,  vavasours,  de 
cretals,  Venice,  heresy,  and  despotism,  all  come 
up  to  be  taxed  according  to  the  decree  of  the 


A  MAKE-BELIEVE  LAW   STUDENT      125 

young  Csesar,  who  had  resolved  to  put  a  new 
province  under  his  subjection.  No  doubt  even 
such  a  hearty  appetite,  whetted  by  ambition, 
helped  by  a  strong  memory,  could  not  digest 
the  great  stretch  of  recorded  time  from  Augus 
tus  to  the  sailing  of  Jacques  Cartier  from  Havre 
de  Grace,  but  he  learned  enough  to  know  what 
he  must  follow  up  more  closely  and  what  he 
might  pass  by.  Professor  Wendell  relates  how 
he  once  met  Parkman  in  the  Louvre,  in  front  of 
a  picture  of  the  murder  of  the  due  de  Guise,  and 
Parkman  immediately  recounted  with  finished 
detail  all  the  story.  The  immediate  service  of 
the  Roman  Empire,  of  the  feudal  system,  of 
mediaeval  Europe  was,  not  to  stand  either  as 
scenery  or  background,  but  to  fill  the  vast  spaces 
behind,  —  where  carpenters,  machinists,  stage- 
managers  toil  and  sweat,  —  all  to  cast  the  right 
lights  upon  the  stage  on  which  Pontiac  was  to 
play  his  brilliant  part. 

When  the  Law  School  opened,  Frank  took  a 
room  in  Divinity  Hall,  and  using  Blackstone  as 
a  stalking  horse  betook  himself  to  the  immedi 
ate  object  of  his  thoughts.  Here  is  a  list  of  some 
of  the  books  he  took  from  the  college  library 
while  in  college  and  at  the  Law  School :  Scott, 
Shakespeare,  Coleridge,  Goldsmith,  Dr.  John 
son,  Irving,  Chateaubriand,  Carlyle,  Machiavelli 
in  Italian,  and,  first  interspersed  but  soon  domi- 


126  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

nating  general  reading,  books  of  American  his 
tory,  "Long's  Expedition,"  "Indian  Wars," 
"New  Hampshire  Historical  Collection,"  "Lewis 
and  Clark,"  "  Travels  in  Canada,"  "  American 
Annals,"  "  Rogers's  Journal,"  "  Carver's  Trav 
els,"  "  Bouquet's  Expedition,"  "  Tracts  on  the 
War,"  "  Charlevoix,"  Colden's  "  Five  Nations," 
"  Moeurs  des  Sauvages,"  and  scores  more,  many 
1  or  all  contributing  their  tale  of  notes  to  fill  little 
books. 

But  study  did  not  play  too  tyrannical  a  part 
in  his  life ;  he  gave  friendship  and  social  pleasure 
their  dues. 

PARKMAN   TO    GEORGE    S.    HALE,    KEENE,  N.   H. 
CAMBRIDGE,  Monday,  Oct.  6,  [1844]. 

DEAR  GEORGE,  —  .  .  .  When  shall  I  hear  of 
you  and  of  your  intentions  with  regard  to  your  pro 
fession  ?  Have  you  decided  on  the  black  gown  ? 
Believe  me  it  will  turn  out  the  best  spec.  I  am 
down  at  Divinity,  devoting  one  hour  per  diem 
to  law,  the  rest  to  my  own  notions.  It  is  a  little 
dismal  here  without  the  fellers,  and  no  Gary 
[George  Blankern  Gary,  a  classmate]  to  laugh 
at  —  life  a  dull,  unchanging  monotony,  varied  by 
a  constitutional  walk,  or  an  evening  expedition 
to  see  Macready.  .  .  . 

We  have  here  in  the  Law  School  a  sprinkling 
of  fine  fellows  from  north,  south,  east,  and  west 
—  some  in  the  quiet  studying  line,  some  in  the 
all  Hell  style,  and  some  a  judicious  combination 


A  MAKE-BELIEVE  LAW  STUDENT       127 

of  both.  Dr.  Walker  pronounces  a  "  very  good 
spirit "  to  prevail  among  the  undergraduates,  so 
that  there  is  no  chance  of  a  rebellion  or  any 
other  recreation  to  entertain  us  lookers-on.  .  .  . 
Please  remember  me  to  your  father,  mother,  and 
sister.  Yrs.  very  truly, 

FRANK  PARKMAN. 


HALE    TO    PARKMAN,    CAMBRIDGE 

KEBNE,  Oct.  28,  1844. 

DEAR  FRANK,  — .  .  .In  common  with  you  I 
have  paid  a  little  attention  to  Blackstone,  and 
hope  to  finish  the  second  volume  this  week,  but 
not  in  such  a  way  as  to  feel  confident  that  I  am 
gaining  much  certain  knowledge.  Will  you  tell 
me  when  you  write  how  you  study  at  C,  at  what 
[and  what]  your  lectures  amount  to,  how  fast 
you  read,  etc.  [embarrassing  questions  to  a  young 
gentleman  whose  attention  was  already  fixed  on  a 
"Ranger's  Adventure  "  and  a  "  Scalp-Hunter  "]. 
.  .  .  You  ask  about  the  black  gown  —  It  trem 
bles  in  the  balance.  Would  I  could  see  my  way 
clear  —  I  should  certainly  feel  more  at  ease.  To 
tell  the  truth  sub  rosa,  I  am  not  in  love  with  any 
one  of  the  learned  professions.  Oh  glorious  lit 
erary  ease,"  sweet  otium  cum  scientia  "  !  —  "  glo 
rious  humbug  "  "  sweet  nonsense,"  says  Frank 
Parkman  and  perhaps  rightly.  In  the  mean 
time  we  both  shout  Vive  Famitie  —  and  cherish 
faithfully  the  remembrance  of  youthful  efforts 
which  made  the  .  .  .  [Chit  Chat  Club]  worthy  of 
fame  to  our  vanity,  as  it  certainly  was  a  bond  of 
union  to  its  members. 

Please  tell  Ned  D  wight  he  owes  me  a  letter, 


128  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

and  remember  that  you  also  are  now  ray  debtor. 
Meanwhile  and  ever,  I  am  most  truly 
Yr.  friend  and  classmate, 

GEORGE  S.  HALE. 

'SAME  TO  SAME. 

KEENE,.  N.  H.,  Nov.  17, 1844. 

DEAR  FRANK,  —  ...  I  was  very  glad  to  hear 
from  you  so  soon.  Quick  replies  are  the  life  of 
a  friendly  correspondence.  ...  I  think  the  bal 
ance  is  rather  inclining  to  sackcloth  and  the 
black  gown,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  decide  at  pre 
sent.  Miss  Hall  was  very  glad  to  hear  from  you 
and  will  welcome  you  to  Keene  with  pleasure 
whenever  your  memory  or  fancy  may  lead  you 
away  from  your  present  literary  ease.  Do  not 
forget  the  maxim  I  laid  down  upon  quick  replies. 
I  assure  you  that  your  letters  can  never  wear  out 
the  hearty  welcome  they  always  get  from  me. 
Most  sincerely  your  friend, 

GEORGE  S.  HALE. 

Keene  was  not  the  only  place  where  Frank 
was  in  favor. 

SALEM,  Noon,  Wednesday,  Jan.  15th,  '45. 

MY  DEAR  FRANK,  —  You  will  scarcely  ex 
pect  me  to  pop  in  again  on  you  so  soon,  but  I 
wish  to  nudge  your  memory,  which  seems  to  be 
very  short  lived  in  regard  to  your  Fair  friends 
in  this  City  of  Peace ;  our  next  Assembly  is  to 
morrow  night, —  i.  e.  Thursday,  Jan.  16th,  '45, — 
and  my  grandmother  begs  me  to  assure  you  that 
your  chamber  is  ready  for  your  occupation  on 


A  MAKE-BELIEVE  LAW  STUDENT       129 

said  night,  and  your  knife  and  fork  will  be  placed 
for  as  many  meals  as  you  will  honor  her  ;  for  be 
it  known  to  you,  she  considers  the  "  Rev.  Dr.  P.'s 
son  as  a  young  man  of  remarkably  quick  parts 
and  very  correct,"  to  say  nothing  of  his  being 
my  friend.  ...  So  if  the  recollection  of  the  last 
Assembly  is  agreeable  enough  to  tempt  you,  and 
nothing  better  offers  nearer  home,  you  must  come 
down  to-morrow.  Besides,  we  must  chat  over  and 
arrange  the  Keene  expedition.  .  .  . 

If  you  will  dine  enfamille  with  us  to-morrow, 
I  should  be  happy  to  measure  appetites  with 
you.  .  .  . 

Farewell  —  my  estomac  cries  "  cupboard,"  and 
half -past  one  —  our  primitive  dinner  hour  —  is 
at  hand.  Kind  remembrances, 

JOE  PEABODY. 

Dancing  and  flirting,  if  that  light  word  may 
be  applied  to  Salem  in  the  forties,  were  not  the 
only  indications  of  youth  and  lightheartedness 
to  be  found  in  the  life  of  Francis  Parkman, 
Junior,  ostensible  votary  of  Blackstone  and 
Kent. 

PARKMAN    TO    HALE,  KEENE,  N.  H. 

CAMBRIDGE,  Nov.  24,  '44. 

DEAR  GEORGE,  — ...  We  wanted  you  the 
other  night.  Joe  got  up  one  of  his  old-fashioned 
suppers  on  a  scale  of  double  magnificence,  in 
viting  thereunto  every  specimen  of  the  class  of 
'44  that  lingered  within  an  accessible  distance. 
There  was  old  S.  and  Snaggy,  N.  D.,  Ned  W. 


130  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

(who  by  the  way  is  off  for  Chili !),  P.,  etc.,  etc. 
The  spree  was  worthy  of  the  entertainment. 
None  got  drunk,  but  all  got  jolly  ;  and  Joe's 
champagne  disappeared  first ;  then  his  Madeira  ; 
and  his  whiskey  punch  would  have  followed  suit 
if  its  copious  supplies  had  not  prevented.  At 
first  all  was  quiet  and  dignified,  not  unworthy 
of  graduates ;  but  at  length  the  steam  found  vent 
in  three  cheers  for  '44,  and  after  that  we  did  not 
cease  singing  and  roaring  till  one  o'clock.  ...  I 
succeeded  in  actually  singing  in  the  chorus  to 
Yankee  Doodle  without  perceptibly  annoying 
the  rest.  .  .  .  The  whole  ended  with  smashing  a 
dozen  bottles  .  .  .  and  a  war  dance  with  scalp 
yells  in  the  middle  of  the  Common,  in  the  course 
of  which  several  nightcapped  heads  appeared  at 
the  opened  windows  of  the  astonished  neighbors.1 

PARKMAN   TO    GEORGE   B.    GARY. 

CAMBRIDGE,  Dec.  15,  '44. 

DEAR  GEORGE,  —  Here  I  am,  down  in  Divin 
ity  Hall  enjoying  to  my  heart's  content  that 
otium  cum  dignitate  which  you  so  affectionately 
admire ;  while  you  poor  devil  are  jolted  in  Eng 
lish  coaches.  .  .  .  Do  you  not  envy  me  in  my  lit 
erary  ease  ?  —  a  sea-coal  fire  —  a  dressing-gown 
—  slippers  —  a  favorite  author ;  all  set  off  by 
an  occasional  bottle  of  champagne,  or  a  bowl  of 
stewed  oysters  at  Washburn's  ?  This  is  the  cream 
of  existence.  To  lay  abed  in  the  morning,  till 
the  sun  has  half  melted  away  the  trees  and  cas 
tles  on  the  window-panes,  and  Nigger  Lewis's 
fire  is  almost  burnt  out,  listening  meanwhile  to 
1  Life  of  Francis  Parkman,  p.  23. 


A  MAKE-BELIEVE  LAW  STUDENT       131 

the  steps  of  the  starved  Divinities  as  they  rush 
shivering  and  panting  to  their  prayers  and  reci 
tations  —  then  to  get  up  to  a  fashionable  break 
fast  at  eleven  —  then  go  to  lecture  —  find  it  a 
little  too  late,  and  adjourn  to  Joe  Peabody's 
room  for  a  novel,  conversation,  and  a  morning 
glass  of  Madeira.  ...  —  After  all  a  man  was 
made  to  be  happy  ;  ambition  is  a  humbug  —  a 
dream  of  youth ;  and  exertion  another ;  .  .  .  I 
think  the  morbid  tendency  to  unnecessary  action 
passes  away  as  manhood  comes  on.  .  .  . 

At  this  time  he  injured  sight  and  health  by 
getting  up  very  early  and  studying  by  candle 
light,  often  without  a  fire. 

Perhaps  you  may  imagine  me  under  some  vi 
nous  influence  in  writing  this.  Not  at  all ;  yet  if 
I  had  written  this  a  few  nights  ago,  perhaps  it 
might  have  smacked  more  of  inspiration.  We 
had  a  class  spree  !  Where  if  there  was  not  much 
wit,  there  was,  as  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  says, 
a  great  deal  of  laughing,  not  to  mention  singing, 
roaring,  and  unseemly  noises  of  a  miscellaneous 
character.  .  ."  .  Our  brothers,  whilom  of  ...  [Chit 
Chat  Club]  accused  me  in  the  beginning  of  the 
term  of  an  intention  of  authorship!  probably 
taking  the  hint  from  the  circumstance  of  my 
never  appearing  till  eleven  o'clock,  a  la  Scott ; 
but  I  believe  they  no  longer  suspect  me  of  so  ill 
advised  an  intention.  It  would  run  a  little  counter 
to  my  present  principles,  though  I  do  remember 
the  time  when  G.  B.  C.  [Gary]  meditated  the 

Baron  of  B ;   and  Snow  felt  sure  (in  his 

cups)  of  being  Captain  General  of  Transatlantic 


132  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Literature,  while  your  humble  servant's  less  soar 
ing  ambition  aspired  to  the  manufacture  of  blood 
and  thunder  chronicles  of  Indian  squabbles  and 
massacres.  .  .  .  You  will  answer  this,  will  you 
not  ?  I  am  very  eager  to  hear  from  you. 

Yours  truly,  F.  PARKMAN.1 

Frank  kept  his  purpose  to  himself,  and  con 
cealed  from  even  his  intimate  friends  that  "  Capt. 
Jonathan  Carver  "  had  been  at  work  on  a  tale 
entitled  "  The  Ranger's  Adventure,"  and  after 
that  on  another  entitled  "  The  Scalp-Hunter." 

1  Life  of  Francis  Parkman,  pp.  19-22. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

PREPAEATION   FOR   PONTIAC 

THE  earlier  progress  of  the  relations  between 
Frank  and  his  first  publisher  may  be  deduced 
from  the  following  letters  :  - 

KNICKERBOCKER  OFFICE,  NEW  YORK,  Feb.  18,  '45. 

To  Capt.  JONATHAN  CARVER  : 

Dear  Sir,  —  I  thank  you  most  cordially  for 
your  excellent  sketch,"  The  Scalp-Hunter,"  which 
you  were  so  good  as  to  send  us.  It  is  truly  a 
thrilling  story,  and,  to  my  mind,  the  closing 
scene  is  worthy  of  Cooper's  pen.  It  is  even 
better  than  "The  Ranger's  Adventure,"  which 
graces  our  March  issue.  It  shall  have  a  "  place 
of  honor  "  in  our  April  number. 

I  need  not  say  that  we  shall  be  but  too  happy 
to  hear  from  you  at  all  times  ;  and  it  gives  me 
pleasure  to  say  to  you,  that  your  impression  of 
the  character  of  the  medium  of  communication 
with  the  public  which  you  have  chosen  is  by  no 
means  a  mistaken  one.  If  ever  there  was  a  peri 
odical  that  could  be  proud  of  its  class  of  readers, 
it  is  the  "  Knickerbocker."  There  is  an  affection 
in  the  public  mind  toward  it,  which  I  am  sure  is 
not  surpassed  by  any  kindred  work  at  home  or 


134  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

abroad.  Pardon  this  seeming  egotism,  my  dear 
sir.  I  love  the  "Old  Knick.,"  having  been  for 
eleven  years  its  editor  ;  and  the  feeling  is  widely 
shared ;  for  more  than  half  our  subscribers  are 
of  that  long  standing.  Our  corps  of  contributors 
—  God  bless  them  !  —  can't  be  exceeded ;  as  one 
may  see,  by  looking  at  their  names  on  the  cover. 

You  will  receive  the  "  Knickerbocker  "  regu 
larly  hereafter.  Is  "  Capt.  Jonathan  Carver  "  a 
nom  de  plume  ?  I  partly  suspect  so,  since  proba 
bility  seems  rather  to  favor  the  conclusion  that  a 
gentleman  tolerably  familiar  with  his  own  name 
would  n't  be  very  apt  to  make  a  mistake  in  spell 
ing  it.  I  observe  you  subscribe  yourself  Captain 
"  Jo/mathan  "  Carver !  May  I  hope  to  hear  from 
you.  Gratefully  and  truly  yrs, 

L.  GAYLORD  CLARK. 

Capt.  "  JO//NATHAN  "  CARVER. 

KNICKERBOCKER  SANCTUM,  Monday,  March  10th,  45. 
MY  DEAR  SIR,  — ...  I  must  again  cordially 
thank  you  for  the  "  Scalp-Hunter."  I  am  an 
"  old  stager  "  in  matters  of  the  sort ;  and  it  must 
be  something  really  "thrilling"  to  keep  me 
awake  at  night,  after  reading  a  proof  sheet.  .  .  . 
I  should  be  glad  to  hear  from  you  as  often  as 
may  be  agreeable  to  you ;  and  as  early  as  the 
sixth  of  each  month,  if  intended  for  the  ensuing 
Number.  Very  truly,  your  obliged 

L.  GAYLORD  CLARK. 

Frank  was,  not  unnaturally,  taxed  by  his 
friends  with  "  concealment,"  or  with  what  among 
law  students  was  probably  known  as  suppressio 


PREPARATION  FOR  PONTIAC  135 

veri,  the  suppression  of  an  important  matter, 
which  the  intimacy  of  friendship  claimed  a  title 
to  hear.  This  charge,  made  by  an  affection  that 
felt  a  little  hurt  to  find  itself  ranked  lower  than 
it  ranked  itself,  was  not  without  justification. 

PARKMAN   TO    HALE,    FEB.  13,  1845. 

By  the  way,  what  do  you  mean  by  charging 
me  (for  the  fourth  time,  is  it  ?)  with  a  design 
to  write  a  novel,  or  a  poem,  or  an  essay,  or  what 
ever  it  is?  Allow  me  to  tell  you  that  though 
the  joke  may  be  good,  it  is  certainly  old.  .  .  . 
If  you  catch  me  writing  anything  of  the  sort,  you 
might  call  me  a  "  darned  fool "  with  great  pro 
priety  as  well  as  elegance.1 

Frank,  boy  and  man,  was  not  oversensitive  to 
criticism.  His  own  judgment  was  the  only  tribu 
nal  of  much  consequence  to  him ;  moreover,  he 
was  already  in  full  cry  upon  the  scent  of  Pontiac, 
"  laboring  through  an  army  of  musty  books  and 
antiquarian  collections,"  and  what  between  Eu 
ropean  history,  which  he  was  reading  hard,  and 
a  decent  appearance  of  attending  lectures  on 
law,  he  was  too  much  occupied  to  trouble  him 
self  with  animadversions  on  what  he  deemed 
his  own  business.  And,  though  Frank  was  a 
good  son,  then  and  always,  he  did  not  take  his 
family  into  his  confidence  about  his  literary 
work  any  more  than  he  did  his  comrades.  This 
1  Life  of  Francis  Parkman,  p.  22. 


136  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

was  natural,  as  his  father  was  out  of  sympathy 
with  his  interests,  and  wished  him  —  as  fathers 
do  —  to  pursue  a  safe  career,  and  win  a  high 
position  at  the  Suffolk  bar.  But  Frank  was 
always  dutiful,  and  their  relations,  if  not  inti 
mate,  were  right-minded  and  affectionate. 

This  summer's  trip  was  begun  in  July,  but 
in  the  mean  time,  by  dint  of  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning  application,  Frank  had  sent  off  the  copy 
for  another  tale  to  be  published  in  the  "  Knicker 
bocker  Magazine"  for  June,  and  also  a  poem, 
entitled,  "  The  New  Hampshire  Ranger,"  to  be 
published  in  August.  This  year's  little  notebook, 
crammed  as  usual  with  memoranda  of  MSS., 
maps,  pamphlets,  and  addresses  of  possible  anti 
quarians,  shows  that  Frank  stopped  in  New  York 
long  enough  to  make  caustic  notes  on  some  young 
women,  and  quickly  continued  his  journey  to  Phil 
adelphia. 

PHILADELPHIA,  July  14,  '45. 

DEAR  MOTHER,  —  Though  I  have  been  sev 
eral  days  here,  I  have  been  compelled  to  re 
main  quiet  and  passive  by  the  furious  heat  ; 
it  has  now  got  up  to  100°  of  the  thermometer. 
There  is  positively  no  place  tolerably  comfort 
able  but  the  bath,  where  I  spend  most  of  my 
time.  Yesterday  I  was  at  a  Quaker  meeting, 
where,  as  it  was  too  hot  for  the  Spirit  to  move 
anybody,  the  whole  congregation  slept  in  perfect 
quiet  for  an  hour  and  then  walked  off,  without  a 


PREPARATION  FOR  PONTIAC  137 

word  said.  .  .  .  The  Philadelpliians  have  shrunk 
away  to  the  dimensions  of  Frenchmen,  by  the 
effects  of  the  climate.  People  lounge  about  at 
corners  and  around  pumps,  rapidly  cooking  in 
the  sun.  ...  I  go  to  Lancaster  to-morrow,  thence 
to  Harrisburg,  thence  to  Pittsburg,  thence  give 
a  look  at  Ohio,  and  thence  go  to  Detroit,  from 
which  I  propose  to  return  by  Niagara  and  Albany. 
My  love  to  Carrie  [his  sister]  and  the  rest,  and 
believe  me, 

Affectionately  yours,  FRANK. 


At  Lancaster  he  interested  himself  in  observ 
ing  the  Dutch  farmers ;  at  Harrisburg  he  divided 
his  attention  between  the  Dutch  and  the  Sus- 
quehanna,  and  made  expeditions  in  the  neighbor 
hood  to  scenes  of  old  forays.  The  railroads  met 
with  his  disapproval,  so  did  some  of  his  fellow 
passengers ;  "  a  drunken,  swearing  puppy  in  the 
cars  first  amused  and  then  disgusted  me."  At 
Buffalo  he  took  the  steamer  for  Detroit  in  com 
pany  with  "  a  host  of  Norwegian  emigrants,  very 
diminutive,  very  ugly,  very  stupid  and  brutal  in 
appearance,  and  very  dirty.  They  appeared  to  me 
less  intelligent  and  as  ignorant  as  the  Indians." 
At  Detroit  he  studied  all  the  places  which  he 
describes  in  the  chapters  relating  to  the  siege  of 
the  fort  by  Pontiac.  Thence  he  went  down  Lake 
Huron  to  Mackinaw,  noting  woodland  and  marsh, 
promontory,  beach  and  island,  Indian  huts  and 


138  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Canadian  settlements.  Here  he  met  a  lieutenant 
in  the  regular  army,  an  antiquarian  like  him 
self  ("  of  which  title  I  am  a  little  ashamed,"  he 
modestly  says).  He  went  about  as  usual,  hunting 
up  the  oldest  inhabitants,  buttonholing  all  per 
sons  suspected  of  special  knowledge,  conversing 
with  Indians,  crawling  into  caves,  climbing  hills, 
measuring  fortifications,  pacing  the  sites  of  an 
cient  forts,  jotting  down  odd  scraps  of  informa 
tion  ready  for  use  thereafter.  Nor  did  he  forget 
to  find  room  in  his  diary  for  biting  comments:  — 

The  dyspeptic  man  who  insisted  on  helping 
himself  to  such  morsels  as  suited  him  (with  his 
own  knife  and  fork).  He  had  nursed  himself 
till  he  had  reached  a  state  of  egotistic  selfish 
ness.  .  .  .  Niagara,  Aug.  17.  The  "  Cataract " 
is  a  bloated,  noisy  house  ;  a  set  of  well-dressed 
blackguards  predominated  at  table.  ...  I  have 
looked  at  the  great  cataract,  but  do  not  feel  in 
the  temper  to  appreciate  it,  or  embrace  its  gran 
deur.  An  old  woman,  who  for  the  pure  love  of 
talking  and  an  itching  to  speak  to  every  one,  sev 
eral  times  addressed  me  with  questions  about  she 
knew  not  what,  filled  me  with  sensations  of  par 
ticular  contempt  instead  of  amusing  me,  as  they 
would  have  done  had  not  my  stomach  been  dis 
ordered.  I  sat  down  near  the  rapids.  "  What 's 
all  this  but  a  little  water  and  foam  ?  "  thought  I. 
"  What  a  pack  of  damned  fools  !  "  was  my  inter 
nal  commentary  on  every  group  that  passed,  and 
some  of  them  deserved  it.  But,  thank  Heaven, 
I  have  partially  recovered  my  good  humor,  can 


PREPARATION  FOR  PONTIAC  139 

sympathize  with  the  species,  and  to  some  degree 
feel  the  sublimity  of  the  great  cataract. 

How  many  of  the  visitors  here  deserve  to  look 
on  it  ?  I  saw  in  the  tower  a  motherly  dame  and 
her  daughters,  amid  the  foam  and  thunder  and 
the  tremendous  pouring  of  the  waters.  "Oh, 
ma !  (half  whispered)  he 's  looking  at  us !  There, 
I  Ve  torn  my  sash.  I  must  go  home  and  pin  it 
up,"  etc. 

From  Niagara  he  went  to  Oswego,  Syracuse, 
to  the  little  Onondaga  River,  where  he  inspected 
the  council-house  of  the  Indians,  presented  to  the 
chiefs  gifts  of  cigars  and  pipes,  and  for  return 
extracted  what  information  he  could  ;  thence  to 
Oneida,  to  the  valley  of  the  Mohawk,  and  home 
ward  by  Albany  and  New  York. 

These  little  notebooks  not  only  show  where 
Frank  went  and  what  he  did,  but  by  indirection 
reveal  his  dutiful  character ;  for,  secluded  on 
back  pages,  there  are  accounts  of  expenditure, 
kept  in  boyish-clerkly  fashion  and  somewhat  spas 
modically.  Frank  had  little  natural  taste  for  the 
counting-room  virtues,  but  he  wished  to  please 
his  father,  and  so  we  find  entries  such  as  these :  — 

Funds  at  starting,  Tuesday,  July  8,  1845  $103.17 
A  bill  of  credit  for  $100  more. 
July  8.  Cravat  $  .75 

«  Shave  .06 

«  Cider  .04 

«        Ticket  to  N.  Y.  2. 

"        Supper  on  board  .50 


140  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

9th  Ale  .06 

"  Boots  .12£ 

Porter  .11 

«  Carriage  to  Astor  H.  .50 

Baths  .25 

and  so  on  with  minute  precision  till  his  return. 
In  this  same  little  book,  at  the  top  of  a  page, 
in  among  notes  of  American  history,  of  Indians, 
of  frontiersmen,  of  journals,  of  gazettes,  and  all 
the  heady  current  of  furious  historic  chase,  is 
written,  abbreviated  in  order  to  squeeze  in  amid 
more  important  matter :  — 

M.  W.  F.  Greenleaf 

Tues.  T.  S.  Story 

10-11  o'clock 

Story  on  Bailments  Tuesday  from  10-11 
Blackstone  on  Wednesday  11-12  2d  &  3d  Sections  espe 
cially. 

A  poor  pennyworth  of  law  to  an  intolerable  deal 
of  border  war ;  this  affords  a  fair  measure  of 
the  division  of  his  interest  between  law  and 
history. 

The  next  year  he  lived  at  home  in  Boston, 
partly  because  his  third  term  at  the  Law  School 
would  be  completed  on  January  16,  and  partly  be 
cause  he  was  not  well ;  at  times  he  lay  in  bed  and 
listened  to  his  little  sister,  Eliza,  read  a  stumpy 
little  volume  of  Blackstone,  and  on  one  day  at 
least  Frithiof's  Saga.  The  girl  was  shy  about 
reading  poetry,  and  the  admired  big  brother, 


PREPARATION  FOR  PONTIAC  141 

perceiving  her  diffidence,  turned  and  praised 
her;  then  and  always  his  careless  seeming  but 
instinctive  tenderness  knit  bonds  that  grew 
stronger  and  stronger  all  their  lives. 

In  spite  of  Kent  and  Blackstone,  Frank  con 
tinued  to  give  his  almost  exclusive  interest  to 
historical  research,  and  we  find  traces  of  a  wide 
spread  correspondence,  —  Ohio,  Delaware,  Italy, 
—  questions  and  answers  about  Pontiac,  Paxton 
Boys,  Jesuits,  etc.  Some  of  these  letters  were 
to  his  cousin,  J.  Coolidge  Shaw,  a  young  man 
lately  converted  to  Catholicism,  then  studying 
in  Rome  for  the  priesthood. 

SHAW   TO   PARKMAN. 

ROME,  Nov.  16th,  1845. 

MY  DEAR  FKANK,  —  I  have  inquired  at  the 
Gesu  of  Father  Glover  and  Father  de  Villefort 
concerning  your  Canada  affairs,  but  it  was  in 
1762  that  the  Company  of  Jesus  was  suppressed 
in  France,  and  though  the  missionaries  in  Can 
ada  were  not  meddled  with,  this  of  course  de 
stroyed  the  communication  between  them  and 
the  mother  country.  [Here  follows  advice  as  to 
getting  historical  information,  and  the  names  of 
several  Jesuit  Fathers.]  If  these  cannot  give 
you  what  you  seek,  I  fear  it  cannot  be  found. 

Do  you  think  you  shall  stick  to  the  Law,  or 
cut  it  in  a  year  or  two  to  give  yourself  completely 
to  history  ?  I  am  glad  you  have  taken  this  turn, 
for  we  want  literary  men,  and  a  fair  historian 


142  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

is  a  great  desideratum.  ...  It  was  history 
made  Hunter  a  Catholic ;  and  I  think  if  you 
continue  it,  it  will  make  you  one  ;  .  .  .  and  we 
may  live  to  see  the  poor  Pope  stripped  of  what 
little  earthly  power  yet  remains  to  him,  and 
as  completely  a  beggar  as  St.  Peter  or  our 
Saviour  himself ;  but  we  shall  see  him  still  the 
Pope,  and  his  people  still  look  to  him  as  father. 
Negas  ?  Well,  we  shall  see.  .  .  .  Remember 
me  with  all  love  to  Uncle  Francis.  .  .  .  Tell 
him  we  are  now  studying  the  treatise  De  Trini- 
tate,  which  I  think,  if  he  read  it,  would  convince 
him  that  our  Lord  is  not  over  well  pleased  at 
being  stripped  of  his  Divinity  and  only  honored 
as  a  man  when  he  ought  to  be  worshiped  as  a 
God. 

Hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  reading  your 
work  when  it  is  out,  and  that  its  success  will 
give  you  a  right  to  make  it  your  fixed  pur 
suit.  .  .  . 

Truly  and  affectionately  yrs, 

J.  C.  SHAW. 

With  theology  and  formal  religion  Frank  had 
little  sympathy  ;  but  random  comments  in  his 
diaries  show  that  all  his  life  he  had  a  "  reverent 
gratitude  for  Christianity  "  and  a  strong  senti 
ment  for  what  he  deemed  a  real  and  masculine 
religion.  Probably  the  epithet,  "  reverent  agnos 
tic,"  which  near,  the  end  of  life  he  accepted  in  a 
conversation  with  his  sister,  of  right  belonged  to 
him  in  youth.  Manliness  was  an  essential  char 
acteristic  of  everything  that  found  favor  in  his 


PREPARATION   FOR  PONTIAC  143 

eyes,  and  he  believed  the  agnostic  position  the 
most  manly,  for  with  that  belief,  so  he  thought, 
a  man  stood  on  his  own  feet  and  faced  the 
universe,  asking  no  prop  except  his  own  stout 
heart.  But  metaphysics  never  interested  him, 
and  at  this  time  history  crowded  out  every  other 
thought  from  his  mind. 

Frank  now  perceived  that  he  had  reached  a 
point  in  his  studies  at  which  he  must  take  a  new 
course.  On  his  summer  excursions  he  had  got 
much  information  concerning  the  Yankee  fron 
tiersman,  he  had  read  all  the  books  he  could  find 
that  dealt  with  his  subject,  he  had  quizzed 
farmer,  antiquarian,  and  wayfarer  for  tradition, 
gossip,  hearsay  ;  he  must  now  study  the  Indians, 
not  the  tamed  savages  living  by  the  Kennebec, 
or  the  Onondaga,  but  the  aboriginal  savages,  in 
their  homes.  He  knew  that  personal  knowledge 
of  their  life  and  customs  was  essential  to  his 
work,  and  now  that  he  had  performed  the  filial 
duty  of  taking  his  lawyer's  degree,  he  felt  that  it 
was  high  time  to  go  westward  to  the  land  of  the 
Sioux  and  the  Snakes.  Accordingly  he  gladly 
accepted  a  suggestion  from  Mr.  Quincy  A.  Shaw, 
Coolidge's  brother,  —  he,  too,  bred  upon  Cooper 
and  Catlin,  —  to  join  him  and  to  take  a  journey 
towards  Oregon  and  California. 

Already  that  year,  immediately  on  the  comple 
tion  of  his  third  term  in  the  Law  School,  Frank 


144  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

had  made  a  trip  to  Philadelphia  and  Baltimore, 
on  which  he  had  acquired  certain  valuable  ex 
periences  carefully  jotted  down  in  his  notebook : 
"N.  B.  Always  take  a  driver's  card.  .  .  .  N.  B. 
Employ  a  porter  in  preference  to  a  carriage  for 
baggage.  .  .  .  Always  ask  for  a  porter's  card  — 
see  your  baggage  ticketed  in  person  and  get  the 
number  of  the  car  that  contains  it."  From  this 
trip  he  got  home  about  the  middle  of  February, 
and  on  March  28th  started  off  again,  this  time 
on  his  memorable  expedition  upon  the  Oregon 
Trail.  The  careful  little  record  of  accounts,  in 
which  bills  for  copying  MSS.  begin  to  appear  — 
item  11.50,  item  $5.00,  item  $25.00  —  show  that 
he  went  to  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Cincinnati, 
and  so  to  St.  Louis. 

FRANK   TO    HIS    MOTHER. 

CINCINNATI,  April  9th,  1846. 

DEAR  MOTHER,  —  ...  To-day  I  reached 
Cincinnati,  after  a  two  days'  passage  down  the 
Ohio.  The  boat  was  good  enough  though  filled 
with  a  swarm  of  half-civilized  reprobates,  gam 
bling,  swearing,  etc.,  among  themselves.  .  .  .  The 
great  annoyance  on  board  these  boats  is  the  ab 
surd  haste  of  everybody  to  gulp  down  their 
meals.  Ten  minutes  suffices  for  dinner,  and  it 
requires  great  skill  and  assiduity  to  secure  a 
competent  allowance  in  that  space  of  time.  As 
I  don't  much  fancy  this  sort  of  proceeding,  I 
generally  manage  to  carry  off  from  the  table 


PREPARATION  FOR  PONTIAC  145 

enough  to  alleviate  the  pangs  of  hunger  without 
choking  myself.  The  case  is  much  the  same  here 
in  the  best  hotel  in  Cincinnati.  When  you  sit 
down,  you  must  begin  without  delay  —  grab 
whatever  is  within  your  reach,  and  keep  hold  of 
the  plate  by  main  force  till  you  have  helped 
yourself.  Eat  up  as  many  potatoes,  onions,  or 
turnips  as  you  can  lay  hands  on  ;  and  take  your 
meat  afterwards,  whenever  you  have  a  chance  to 
get  it.  It  is  only  by  economizing  time  in  this 
fashion  that  you  can  avoid  starvation  —  such  a 
set  of  beasts  are  these  western  men.  ...  In 
three  or  four  days  I  shall  be  at  St.  Louis,  stop 
ping  a  short  time  at  Louisville,  Kentucky.  My 
eyes  are  decidedly  improved,  and  my  health  ex 
cellent.  In  going  about  Cincinnati  this  morning, 
I  found  a  most  ridiculous  piece  of  architecture, 
in  utter  defiance  of  taste  or  common  sense  ;  and 
learned  that  it  was  built  by  Mrs.  Trollope  during 
her  stay  here.  ...  I  am,  dear  mother, 

Very  affectionately  yrs,  F.  P. 

This  letter  must  have  crossed  two  from  his 
sister  Caroline. 

CAROLINE    TO    FRANK. 

April  4,  1846. 

MY  DEAR  FKANK,  —  ...  I  don't  believe 
you  can  form  any  idea  of  your  importance  in  our 
family.  We  wish  for  you  just  as  much  to-day 
as  we  did  a  week  ago,  when  you  left  us.  I  was 
really  truly  sorry  that  I  had  not  a  better  com 
mand  of  myself  when  you  went  away,  for  it  is  too 
bad  to  give  way  to  the  feelings  and  make  a  leave- 


146  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

taking  for  such  a  pleasant  journey  so  gloomy. 
If  I  could  have  gone  over  the  goocl-by  again,  it 
should  have  been  with  smiles  rather  than  tears, 
for  I  would  not  be  so  selfish  as  to  think  of  my 
self,  when  there  is  so  much  pleasure  in  prospect 
for  you.  .  .  .  With  true  love, 

CARRIE. 

CAROLINE  TO  FRANK. 

April  7,  BOSTON,  1846. 

...  I  spent  Sunday  with  Aunt  Mary,  who 
misses  your  visits  and  the  prospect  of  them  very 
much.  I  mean  to  spend  a  day  or  two  with  her 
every  week.  Mrs.  Swan  wished  me  to  give  her 
love  to  you,  and  says  that  she  cannot  realize 
that  such  a  quiet  little  boy  as  you  were  should 
ever  be  such  a  "  Will-o-the-Wisp."  ...  I  for 
got  to  tell  you  in  our  last  letter  how  extremely 
disappointed  Perry  [his  classmate,  H.  J.  Perry] 
was  on  coming  to  see  you  on  the  afternoon  you 
had  gone.  .  .  .  They  all  send  their  love,  espe 
cially  Elly  [his  little  brother],  who  misses  you 
very  much,  as  we  all  do.  .  .  . 

With  much  love,  CARRIE. 

Frank  was  making  notes  all  the  time.  He  had 
stopped  to  see  the  site  of  Fort  Duquesne,  the 
remains  of  Fort  Pitt,  the  spot  of  Braddock's  de 
feat,  and  various  scenes  of  border  war ;  nor  did 
he  pretermit  his  practice  of  making  comments 
on  the  people  he  met.  "  The  English  reserve  or 
offishness  seems  to  be  no  part  of  the  western 
character  —  I  observe  this  trait  in  myself  —  to- 


PREPARATION  FOR   PONTIAC  147 

day,  for  instance,  when  a  young  fellow  expressed 
satisfaction  that  he  should  accompany  me  to  St. 
Louis,  I  felt  rather  inclined  to  shake  him  off, 
though  he  had  made  himself  agreeable  enough." 
This  trait  of  Parkman's  remained  with  him 
through  life  ;  it  may  receive  sympathy  or  blame, 
according  to  temperament,  or  perhaps  accord 
ing  to  the  mood  of  the  moment,  but  those  who, 
like  this  young  fellow,  wished  to  come  within  a 
line  beyond  which  Parkman  proposed  that  they 
should  stay,  were  sometimes  wounded  in  their 
vanity. 

He  reached  St.  Louis  about  the  13th  of  April, 
and  was  soon  joined  by  Shaw. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


IN  the  early  part  of  1846  Oregon  was  still  the 
whole  country  west  of  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
stretching  from  Mexico  (as  it  was  then  still  un- 
dispossessed  by  the  United  States),  on  the  south, 
as  far  north  as  the  parallel  50°  40',  and  was 
jointly  occupied  by  Great  Britain  and  the  United 
States,  until  later  in  that  year  the  treaty  fixed 
the  boundary  between  them  at  the  49th  par 
allel.  The  trail  was  the  somewhat  uncertain 
track  followed  by  emigrants  and  traders. 

This  expedition,  which  Shaw  wished  to  ex 
tend  to  California  but  could  not  as  Frank  had 
not  the  time  to  give,  took  them  into  the  vast 
region  east  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  which  is 
now  cut  up  into  the  States  of  Nebraska,  Colo 
rado,  and  Wyoming. 

Parkman  and  Shaw   left   St.  Louis  on   the 

28th  of  April,  1846,  on  board  a  river  steamboat 

in  a  somewhat  disorderly  company  of  traders, 

adventurers,  gamblers,  negroes,  Indians,  and  emi- 

1  See  The  Oregon  Trail. 


OFF  ON  THE  OREGON  TRAIL          149 

grants.  They  landed  on  the  western  frontier  of 
Missouri  near  Kansas  City,  which  they  reached 
the  next  day.  There  they  made  their  headquar 
ters  while  purchasing  horses,  mules,  and  various 
articles  necessary  for  the  journey.  Near  by,  en 
camped  on  the  prairie,  were  a  multitude  of  emi 
grants.  Some  of  them  were  sober  men,  inter 
ested  in  the  doctrine  of  regeneration,  others  were 
rogues  from  the  lowest  layer  of  society,  prompted 
by  a  forlorn  hope  of  bettering  their  condition, 
or  by  mere  restlessness,  or  perhaps  by  a  wish  to 
shake  off  the  restraints  of  law  and  society. 
Parkman  and  Shaw  did  not  like  such  company, 
and  therefore  they  joined  forces  with  a  small 
party  of  Englishmen  for  the  sake  of  mutual 
protection. 

Their  first  experiences  of  the  journey  westward 
were  a  mild  foretaste  of  what  was  to  come.  No 
sooner  were  the  animals  put  in  harness  than  the 
shaft-mule  reared  and  plunged,  burst  ropes  and 
straps,  and  nearly  flung  the  cart  into  the  Mis 
souri.  The  beast  was  uncontrollable,  and  an 
other  had  to  be  procured.  This  done,  their  cart 
started,  but  had  barely  gone  a  few  miles  before 
it  stuck  fast  in  a  muddy  gully,  where  it  remained 
for  more  than  an  hour.  Their  outfit  was  suffi 
cient  but  not  elaborate.  Their  guide  was  dressed 
in  broad  felt  hat,  moccasins,  and  deerskin  trou 
sers  ;  he  rode  a  Wyandot  pony  and  carried  his 


150  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

rifle  in  front,  resting  on  the  pommel  of  the  sad 
dle,  bullet-pouch  and  powder-horn  at  his  side, 
and  knife  in  belt.  Parkman  and  Shaw  wore 
flannel  shirts,  buckskin  breeches,  and  moccasins  ; 
each  had  a  blanket  rolled  up  behind,  holsters 
with  heavy  pistols,  and  the  trail-rope  coiled  and 
fastened  to  the  front  of  the  saddle.  Each  had 
a  gun,  and  a  horse  beside  the  one  he  rode.  The 
cart  carried  the  provisions,  tent,  ammunition, 
blankets,  and  presents  for  Indians.  The  mule 
teer,  Deslauriers,  was  a  Canadian. 

Neither  fatigue,  exposure,  nor  hard  labor 
could  ever  impair  his  cheerfulness  and  gayety, 
or  his  politeness  to  his  bourgeois  [employer]  ; 
and  when  night  came  he  would  sit  down  by 
the  fire,  smoke  his  pipe,  and  tell  stories  with 
the  utmost  contentment.  The  prairie  was  his 
element. 

The  guide,  Henry  Chatillon,  was  of  a  much 
higher  type ;  he  came  of  a  family  of  French  Ca 
nadians,  though  he  was  born  in  Missouri.  He 
was  a  tall,  powerful,  fine-looking  fellow. 

The  prairies  had  been  his  school ;  he  could 
neither  read  nor  write,  but  he  had  a  natural  re 
finement  and  delicacy  of  mind,  such  as  is  rare 
even  in  women.  His  manly  face  was  a  mirror 
of  uprightness,  simplicity,  and  kindness  of  heart ; 
he  had,  moreover,  a  keen  perception  of  charac 
ter,  and  a  tact  that  would  preserve  him  from 
flagrant  error  in  any  society.  He  had  not  the 


OFF  ON  THE  OREGON  TRAIL          151 

restless  energy  of  an  Anglo- American.  He  was 
content  to  take  things  as  he  found  them ;  and 
his  chief  fault  arose  from  an  excess  of  easy  gen 
erosity  not  conducive  to  thriving  in  the  world. 
Yet  it  was  commonly  remarked  of  him  that, 
whatever  he  might  choose  to  do  with  what 
belonged  to  himself,  the  property  of  others  was 
always  safe  in  his  hands.  His  bravery  was  as 
much  celebrated  in  the  mountains  as  his  skill  in 
hunting ;  but  it  is  characteristic  of  him  that,  in 
a  country  where  the  rifle  is  the  chief  arbiter  be 
tween  man  and  man,  he  was  very  seldom  in 
volved  in  quarrels.  Once  or  twice,  indeed,  his 
quiet  good-nature  had  been  mistaken  and  pre 
sumed  upon,  but  the  consequences  of  the  error 
were  such  that  no  one  was  ever  known  to  repeat 
it.  No  better  evidence  of  the  intrepidity  of  his 
temper  could  be  asked  than  the  common  report 
that  he  had  killed  more  than  thirty  grizzly  bears. 
I  have  never,  in  the  city  or  in  the  wilderness, 
met  a  better  man  than  my  true-hearted  friend, 
Henry  Chatillon. 

After  a  few  days  of  varied  discomforts,  chief 
of  which  were  insects  and  thunderstorms,  they 
came  to  the  Big  Blue  River,  which  they  crossed 
on  a  raft,  and  then  they  struck  the  regular  trail 
of  the  Oregon  emigrants.  Soon  they  came  upon 
a  party  of  them. 

These  were  the  first  emigrants  that  we  had 
overtaken,  although  we  had  found  abundant  and 
melancholy  traces  of  their  progress  throughout 
the  course  of  the  journey.  Sometimes  we  passed 


152  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

the  grave  of  one  who  had  sickened  and  died  on 
the  way.  The  earth  was  usually  torn  up,  and 
covered  thickly  with  wolf -tracks.  Some  had  es 
caped  this  violation.  One  morning  a  piece  of 
plank,  standing  upright  on  the  summit  of  a 
grassy  hill,  attracted  our  notice,  and  riding  up 
to  it,  we  found  the  following  words  very  roughly 
traced  upon  it,  apparently  with  a  red-hot  iron  :  — 

MARY  ELLIS 
Died  May  7th,  1845. 
Aged  two  mouths. 

Such  tokens  were  of  common  occurrence. 

Here  a  small  emigrant  train  was  invited  by 
the  Englishmen  to  join  company  with  them, 
much  to  the  disgust  of  Parkman  and  Shaw,  as 
the  emigrant  wagons  drawn  by  oxen  must  ne 
cessarily  hinder  their  progress.  The  emigrants 
themselves,  however,  were  good  fellows,  and  all 
journeyed  on  in  amity ;  in  one  respect  the  addi 
tion  was  an  advantage,  for  every  night  two  men 
mounted  guard,  and  with  a  greater  number  each 
man's  turn  came  round  less  frequently.  Park 
man  rather  enjoyed  his  watches  in  spite  of  loss 
of  sleep  and  rest. 

A  few  days'  journey  brought  them  to  the  top 
of  some  sand-hills,  from  which  they  could  see 
the  valley  of  the  Platte. 

We  all  drew  rein,  and  sat  joyfully  looking 
down  upon  the  prospect.  It  was  right  welcome, 
—  strange,  too,  and  striking  to  the  imagination  ; 


OFF  ON   THE   OREGON  TRAIL  153 

and  yet  it  had  not  one  picturesque  or  beauti 
ful  feature  ;  nor  had  it  any  of  the  features  of 
grandeur,  other  than  its  vast  extent,  its  soli 
tude,  and  its  wildness.  For  league  after  league  a 
plain  as  level  as  a  lake  was  outspread  beneath 
us  ;  here  and  there  the  Platte,  divided  into  a 
dozen  thread-like  sluices,  was  traversing  it,  and 
an  occasional  clump  of  wood,  rising  in  the  midst 
like  a  shadowy  island,  relieved  the  monotony  of 
the  waste.  No  living  thing  was  moving  through 
out  the  vast  landscape,  except  the  lizards  that 
darted  over  the  sand  and  through  the  rank  grass 
and  prickly  pears  at  our  feet.  [From  here  their 
course  lay  westward  through  a  long,  narrow, 
sandy  plain,  flanked  by  two  lines  of  sand-hills, 
and  stretching  nearly  to  the  foot  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  Before  and  behind  them  the  plain 
spread  level  to  the  horizon.]  Sometimes  it  glared 
in  the  sun,  an  expanse  of  hot  bare  sand ;  some 
times  it  was  veiled  by  long  coarse  grass.  Skulls 
and  whitening  bones  of  buffalo  were  scattered 
everywhere ;  the  ground  was  tracked  by  myriads 
of  them.  .  .  .  The  naked  landscape  is,  of  itself, 
dreary  and  monotonous  enough;  and  yet  the 
wild  beasts  and  wild  men  that  frequent  the  val 
ley  of  the  Platte  make  it  a  scene  of  interest  and 
excitement  to  the  traveler.  Of  those  who  have 
journeyed  there,  scarcely  one,  perhaps,  fails  to 
look  back  with  fond  regret  to  his  horse  and  his 
rifle.  [Here  they  made  acquaintance  with  the 
Pawnee  Indians,  an  idle,  thieving  tribe.  Many 
stories  of  their  depredations  were  current,  and 
the  travelers  kept  careful  watch.  The  weather 
was  most  fitful.]  This  very  morning,  for  in- 


154  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

stance,  was  close  and  sultry,  the  sun  rising  with 
a  faint  oppressive  heat ;  when  suddenly  darkness 
gathered  in  the  west,  and  a  furious  blast  of  sleet 
and  hail  drove  full  in  our  faces,  icy  cold,  and 
urged  with  such  demoniac  vehemence  that  it  felt 
like  a  storm  of  needles.  It  was  curious  to  see 
the  horses ;  they  faced  about  in  extreme  dis 
pleasure,  holding  their  tails  like  whipped  dogs, 
and  shivering  as  the  angry  gusts,  howling  louder 
than  a  concert  of  wolves,  swept  over  us.  Wright's 
[the  Englishmen's  muleteer]  long  train  of  mules 
came  sweeping  round  before  the  storm,  like  a 
flight  of  snow-birds  driven  by  a  winter  tempest. 
.  .  .  The  thing  was  too  good  to  last  long ;  and 
the  instant  the  puffs  of  wind  subsided  we  pitched 
our  tents,  and  remained  in  camp  for  the  rest  of 
a  gloomy  and  lowering  day. 

[The  even  tenor  of  the  journey  was  soon  broken 
by  the  presence  of  buffalo.  Their  tracks  had 
been  frequent  for  some  days,  and  a  few  stray 
bulls  had  been  shot,  but  before  this  no  herd  had 
been  seen.]  One  day  somebody  cried,  "  Buffalo, 
buffalo  !  "  It  was  but  a  grim  old  bull,  roaming 
the  prairie  by  himself  in  misanthropic  seclusion  ; 
but  there  might  be  more  behind  the  hills.  Dread 
ing  the  monotony  and  languor  of  the  camp,  Shaw 
and  I  saddled  our  horses,  buckled  our  holsters 
in  their  places,  and  set  out  with  Henry  Chatillon 
in  search  of  the  game.  Henry,  not  intending  to 
take  part  in  the  chase,  but  merely  conducting 
us,  carried  his  rifle  with  him,  while  we  left  ours 
behind  as  incumbrances.  We  rode  for  some  five 
or  six  miles,  and  saw  no  living  thing  but  wolves, 
snakes,  and  prairie-dogs.  .  .  .  The  ground  was 


OFF  ON  THE  OREGON  TRAIL          155 

none  of  the  best  for  a  race,  and  grew  worse  as 
we  proceeded ;  indeed,  it  soon  became  desperately 
bad,  consisting  of  abrupt  hills  and  deep  hol 
lows,  cut  by  frequent  ravines  not  easy  to  pass. 
At  length,  a  mile  in  advance,  we  saw  a  band  of 
bulls.  Some  were  scattered  grazing  over  a  green 
declivity,  while  the  rest  were  crowded  together 
in  the  wide  hollow  below.  Making  a  circuit,  to 
keep  out  of  sight,  we  rode  towards  them,  until 
we  ascended  a  hill  within  a  furlong  of  them,  be 
yond  which  nothing  intervened  that  could  pos 
sibly  screen  us  from  their  view.  We  dismounted 
behind  the  ridge,  just  out  of  sight,  drew  our 
saddle-girths,  examined  our  pistols,  and  mount 
ing  again,  rode  over  the  hill  and  descended  at  a 
canter  towards  them,  bending  close  to  our  horses' 
necks.  Instantly  they  took  the  alarm  ;  those  on 
the  hill  descended,  those  below  gathered  into  a 
mass,  and  the  whole  got  into  motion,  shouldering 
each  other  along  at  a  clumsy  gallop.  We  fol 
lowed,  spurring  our  horses  to  full  speed ;  and  as 
the  herd  rushed,  crowding  and  trampling  in  ter 
ror  through  an  opening  in  the  hills,  we  were  close 
at  their  heels,  half  suffocated  by  the  clouds  of 
dust.  But  as  we  drew  near,  their  alarm  and  speed 
increased ;  our  horses,  being  new  to  the  work, 
showed  signs  of  the  utmost  fear,  bounding  vio 
lently  aside  as  we  approached,  and  refusing  to 
enter  among  the  herd.  The  buffalo  now  broke 
into  several  small  bodies,  scampering  over  the 
hills  in  different  directions,  and  I  lost  sight  of 
Shaw ;  neither  of  us  knew  where  the  other  had 
gone.  Old  Pontiac  [Parkman's  horse]  ran  like  a 
frantic  elephant  uphill  and  down  hill,  his  pon- 


156  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

derous  hoofs  striking  the  prairies  like  sledge 
hammers.  He  showed  a  curious  mixture  of 
eagerness  and  terror,  straining  to  overtake  the 
panic-stricken  herd,  but  constantly  recoiling  in 
dismay  as  we  drew  near.  The  fugitives,  indeed, 
offered  no  very  attractive  spectacle,  with  their 
shaggy  manes  and  the  tattered  remnants  of  their 
last  winter's  hair  covering  their  backs  in  irregu 
lar  shreds  and  patches,  and  flying  off  in  the  wind 
as  they  ran.  At  length  I  urged  my  horse  close 
behind  a  bull,  and  after  trying  in  vain  by  blows 
and  spurring  to  bring  him  alongside,  I  fired  from 
this  disadvantageous  position.  At  the  report 
Pontiac  swerved  so  much  that  I  was  again 
thrown  a  little  behind  the  game.  The  bullet, 
entering  too  much  in  the  rear,  failed  to  disable 
the  bull,  for  a  buffalo  requires  to  be  shot  at  par 
ticular  points  or  he  will  certainly  escape.  The 
herd  ran  up  a  hill,  and  I  followed  in  pursuit. 
As  Pontiac  rushed  headlong  down  on  the  other 
side,  I  saw  Shaw  and  Henry  descending  the 
hollow  on  the  right  at  a  leisurely  gallop ;  and  in 
front  the  buffalo  were  just  disappearing  behind 
the  crest  of  the  next  hill,  their  short  tails  erect, 
and  their  hoofs  twinkling  through  a  cloud  of 
dust. 

At  that  moment  I  heard  Shaw  and  Henry  shout 
ing  to  me  ;  but  the  muscles  of  a  stronger  arm  than 
mine  could  not  have  checked  at  once  the  furious 
course  of  Pontiac,  whose  mouth  was  as  insensible 
as  leather.  Added  to  this,  I  rode  him  that  morn 
ing  with  a  snaffle,  having  the  day  before,  for  the 
benefit  of  my  other  horse,  unbuckled  from  my  bri 
dle  the  curb  which  I  commonly  used.  A  stronger 


OFF  ON   THE   OREGON   TRAIL  157 

and  hardier  brute  never  trod  the  prairie  ;  but  the 
novel  sight  of  the  buffalo  filled  him  with  terror, 
and  when  at  full  speed  he  was  almost  incontrol- 
lable.  Gaining  the  top  of  the  ridge,  I  saw  nothing 
of  the  buffalo ;  they  had  all  vanished  amid  the 
intricacies  of  the  hills  and  hollows.  Reloading 
my  pistols  in  the  best  way  I  could,  I  galloped  on 
until  I  saw  them  again  scuttling  along  at  the  base 
of  the  hill,  their  panic  somewhat  abated.  Down 
went  old  Pontiac  among  them,  scattering  them 
to  the  right  and  left ;  and  then  we  had  another 
long  chase.  About  a  dozen  bulls  were  before  us 
scouring  over  the  hills,  rushing  down  the  decliv 
ities  with  tremendous  weight  and  impetuosity, 
and  then  laboring  with  a  weary  gallop  upward. 
Still  Pontiac,  in  spite  of  spurring  and  beating, 
would  not  close  with  them.  One  bull  at  length 
fell  a  little  behind  the  rest,  and  by  dint  of  much 
effort  I  urged  my  horse  within  six  or  eight  yards 
of  his  side.  His  back  was  darkened  with  sweat ; 
he  was  panting  heavily,  while  his  tongue  lolled 
out  a  foot  from  his  jaws.  Gradually  I  came  up 
abreast  of  him,  urging  Pontiac  with  leg  and  rein 
nearer  to  his  side,  when  suddenly  he  did  what 
buffalo  in  such  circumstances  will  always  do,  — 
he  slackened  his  gallop,  and  turning  towards  us, 
with  an  aspect  of  mingled  rage  and  distress,  low 
ered  his  huge,  shaggy  head  for  a  charge.  Pontiac, 
with  a  snort,  leaped  aside  in  terror,  nearly  throw 
ing  me  to  the  ground,  as  I  was  wholly  unprepared 
for  such  an  evolution.  I  raised  my  pistol  in  a 
passion  to  strike  him  in  the  head,  but  think 
ing  better  of  it,  fired  the  bullet  after  the  bull, 
who  had  resumed  his  flight ;  then  drew  rein,  and 


158  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

determined  to  join  my  companions.  It  was  high 
time.  The  breath  blew  hard  from  Pontiac's  nos 
trils,  and  the  sweat  rolled  in  big  drops  down  his 
sides  ;  I  felt  myself  as  if  drenched  in  warm  water. 
...  I  looked  about  for  some  indications  to  show 
me  where  I  was,  and  what  course  I  ought  to  pur 
sue.  I  might  as  well  have  looked  for  landmarks 
in  the  midst  of  the  ocean.  How  many  miles  I 
had  run,  or  in  what  direction,  I  had  no  idea ; 
and  around  me  the  prairie  was  rolling  in  steep 
swells  and  pitches,  without  a  single  distinctive 
feature  to  guide  me.  I  had  a  little  compass  hung 
at  my  neck  ;  and  ignorant  that  the  Platte  at 
this  point  diverged  considerably  from  its  east 
erly  course,  I  thought  that  by  keeping  to  the 
northward  I  should  certainly  reach  it.  So  I 
turned  and  rode  about  two  hours  in  that  direc 
tion.  The  prairie  changed  as  I  advanced,  soften 
ing  away  into  easier  undulations,  but  nothing 
like  the  Platte  appeared,  nor  any  sign  of  a 
human  being  :  the  same  wild,  endless  expanse 
lay  around  me  still ;  and  to  all  appearance  I  was 
as  far  from  my  object  as  ever.  I  began  now  to 
think  myself  in  danger  of  being  lost,  and,  rein 
ing  in  my  horse,  summoned  the  scanty  share  of 
woodcraft  that  I  possessed  (if  that  term  be  appli 
cable  on  the  prairie)  to  extricate  me.  It  occurred 
to  me  that  the  buffalo  might  prove  my  best  guides. 
I  soon  found  one  of  the  paths  made  by  them  in 
their  passage  to  the  river ;  it  ran  nearly  at  right 
angles  to  my  course  ;  but  turning  my  horse's  head 
in  the  direction  it  indicated,  his  freer  gait  and 
erected  ears  assured  me  that  I  was  right.  .  .  . 
Being  now  free  from  anxiety,  I  was  at  leisure 


OFF  ON  THE  OREGON  TRAIL          159 

to  observe  minutely  the  objects  around  me ;  and 
here  for  the  first  time  I  noticed  insects  wholly 
different  from  any  of  the  varieties  found  far 
ther  eastward.  Gaudy  butterflies  fluttered  about 
my  horse's  head ;  strangely  formed  beetles,  glit 
tering  with  metallic  lustre,  were  crawling  upon 
plants  that  I  had  never  seen  before ;  multitudes 
of  lizards,  too,  were  darting  like  lightning  over 
the  sand. 

He  followed  the  buffalo  path  until  at  last  he 
came  in  sight  of  the  river,  and  then  with  the  aid 
of  Pontiac  he  found  the  emigrant  trail,  and  see 
ing  that  his  party  had  not  passed  he  turned  to 
meet  them. 

Having  been  slightly  ill  on  leaving  camp  in 
the  morning,  six  or  seven  hours  of  rough  riding 
had  fatigued  me  extremely.  I  soon  stopped,  there 
fore,  flung  my  saddle  on  the  ground,  and  with  my 
head  resting  on  it,  and  my  horse's  trail-rope  tied 
loosely  to  my  arm,  lay  waiting  the  arrival  of  the 
party,  speculating  meanwhile  on  the  extent  of  the 
injuries  Pontiac  had  received. 

Soon  afterwards  Shaw  and  the  mule-team  came 
up,  and  the  party  resumed  their  way. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   OGILLALLAH 

ON  June  8th  the  party  forded  the  South  Fork  of 
the  Platte.  Here  they  parted  from  their  com 
panions.  The  Englishmen  affected  authority  to 
decide  when  and  where  they  should  encamp,  and 
were  domineering  in  their  bearing ;  so  Parkman 
and  Shaw,  careless  of  the  security  afforded  by 
numbers,  took  a  somewhat  abrupt  leave,  and, 
having  less  baggage,  soon  left  the  others  behind. 
They  pushed  on  along  the  North  Fork  of  the 
Platte  without  adventures,  beyond  meeting  a  Da 
kota  village  wandering  along  in  rude  procession 
under  the  command  of  Old  Smoke,  and  crossed 
what  is  now  the  boundary  between  Nebraska 
and  Wyoming.  They  forded  Laramie  Creek, 
the  southern  of  two  streams  that  unite  just  east 
of  Fort  Laramie  to  form  the  North  Fork  of  the 
Platte,  and,  a  short  distance  beyond,  arrived  at 
the  fort.  This  post  was  occupied,  not  by  a  gar 
rison  of  United  States  troops,  as  the  name  might 
suggest,  for  in  fact  the  nearest  soldiers  were 
seven  hundred  miles  to  the  east,  but  by  servants 


THE   OGILLALLAH  161 

of  the  American  Fur  Company,  who  bought 
skins  and  furs  of  the  trappers  and  Indians.  The 
scene  was  like  that  in  a  French  fort  on  the  fron 
tier  a  hundred  years  before.  The  fort  itself, 
built  of  bricks  dried  in  the  sun,  was  oblong  in 
shape.  Its  walls  were  about  fifteen  feet  high, 
and  were  fortified  at  two  of  the  corners  by 
blockhouses  built  of  clay.  Within,  the  area  was 
divided  by  a  partition ;  on  one  side  was  a  court 
surrounded  by  storerooms,  offices,  and  bed 
rooms  ;  on  the  other  side  was  an  inclosure  where 
the  horses  and  mules  were  shut  in  at  night.  The 
inhabitants  were  a  motley  crew.  There  were 
the  servants  of  the  company,  men  of  French  Ca 
nadian  blood,  in  breeding  and  education  not 
much  above  their  friends  the  Indians,  who  loafed 
about  with  solemn  faces  in  white  buffalo  robes, 
or  dozed  in  the  sunshine.  There  were  gayly 
painted  squaws  in  large  numbers,  a  troop  of 
mongrel  children  tumbling  about,  and  half-breed 
trappers,  who  had  either  just  come  back  from 
a  trapping  expedition  or  were  about  to  start. 
Parkman  and  Shaw  were  hospitably  received. 
The  chamber,  ordinarily  occupied  by  the  bour 
geois  [the  "  boss  "]  of  the  post,  who  was  absent, 
was  put  at  their  disposal.  Its  furniture  was  a 
bare  bedstead,  two  chairs,  a  chest  of  drawers, 
and  a  pail ;  buffalo  robes  were  stretched  on  the 
floor  for  beds,  as  the  bedstead  was  only  an  orna- 


162  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

ment.  On  the  wall,  side  by  side,  hung  a  crucifix 
and  a  fresh  scalp.  The  food  consisted  of  dried 
buffalo  meat,  "  an  excellent  thing  for  strength 
ening  the  teeth,"  and  cakes  of  bread.  Here  they 
stayed  several  days,  observing  the  ways  and  cus 
toms  of  their  hosts  and  of  the  Indians.  Old 
Smoke's  village  had  encamped  near  by,  and  they 
used  to  go  there  and  spend  most  of  their  even 
ings. 

Parkman  was  very  glad  to  observe  the  Indian 
at  home,  but  he  desired  with  greater  eagerness 
to  study  him  on  the  warpath ;  for  this  an  op 
portunity  seemed  to  be  at  hand.  The  son  of  an 
Ogillallah  chief,  The  Whirlwind,  had  been  killed 
by  the  Snake  Indians;  and  in  revenge  The 
Whirlwind  had  roused  all  the  Dakota  villages 
within  three  hundred  miles  to  take  part  in  a 
campaign  against  the  Snakes.  The  Ogillallah  In 
dians  belong  to  the  Dakota  or  Sioux  tribe,  and 
their  kith  and  kin,  having  also  grievances  of 
their  own  against  the  Snakes,  acknowledged  their 
duty  to  punish  the  injury,  and  many  villages, 
making  altogether  five  thousand  persons  or  more, 
were  already  on  the  march  to  the  appointed 
meeting  ground  on  the  river  Platte.  There  they 
were  to  celebrate  the  solemn  rites  which  in  In 
dian  usage  precede  a  campaign,  and  then  the  war 
riors,  one  thousand  strong,  were  to  start  on  the 
warpath.  "  I  was  greatly  rejoiced  to  hear  of  it.  I 


THE  OGILLALLAH  163 

had  come  into  the  country  chiefly  with  a  view  of 
observing  the  Indian  character.  To  accomplish 
my  purpose  it  was  necessary  to  live  in  the  midst 
of  them,  and  become,  as  it  were,  one  of  them.  I 
proposed  to  join  a  village,  and  make  myself  an 
inmate  of  one  of  their  lodges."  The  first  plan 
had  been  to  join  Old  Smoke's  village,  but  Henry 
Chatillon,  the  guide,  was  very  anxious  to  go  to 
The  Whirlwind's  village  to  see  his  squaw,  who 
belonged  to  that  village,  and  was  there  very  ill, 
so  Parkman  changed  his  plan  to  accord  with 
Chatillon's  desire.  Parkman  was  not  well  he 
says :  - 

I  had  been  slightly  ill  for  several  weeks,  but 
on  the  third  night  after  reaching  Fort  Laramie 
a  violent  pain  awoke  me,  and  I  found  myself 
attacked  by  the  same  disorder  that  occasioned 
such  heavy  losses  to  the  army  on  the  Rio  Grande 
[Mexican  war].  In  a  day  and  a  half  I  was  re 
duced  to  extreme  weakness,  so  that  I  could  not 
walk  without  pain  and  effort.  Having  no  medi 
cal  adviser,  nor  any  choice  of  diet,  I  resolved  to 
throw  myself  upon  Providence  for  recovery, 
using,  without  regard  to  the  disorder,  any  por 
tion  of  strength  that  might  remain  to  me.  So 
on  the  twentieth  of  June  we  set  out  from 
Fort  Laramie  to  meet  The  Whirlwind's  village. 
Though  aided  by  the  high-bowed  "  mountain- 
saddle,"  I  could  scarcely  keep  my  seat  on  horse 
back. 

They  halted  at  a  spot  on  Laramie  Creek  which 


164  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

The  Whirlwind  must  necessarily  pass  on  his  way 
to  the  meeting  place,  and  there  pitched  their 
camp  to  await  his  coming.  Days  went  by,  but 
the  dilatory  Whirlwind  did  not  come. 

If  our  camp  was  not  altogether  safe  [a  troop 
of  hostile  Indians  had  passed  within  rifle-shot,  but 
had  missed  them  on  account  of  a  heavy  mist],  still 
it  was  comfortable  enough ;  at  least  it  was  so  to 
Shaw,  for  I  was  tormented  with  illness  and  vexed 
by  the  delay  in  the  accomplishment  of  my  designs. 
When  a  respite  in  my  disorder  gave  me  some 
returning  strength,  I  rode  out  well  armed  upon 
the  prairie,  or  bathed  with  Shaw  in  the  stream, 
or  waged  a  petty  warfare  with  the  inhabitants 
of  a  neighboring  prairie-dog  village.  Around  our 
fire  at  night  we  employed  ourselves  in  inveighing 
against  the  fickleness  and  inconstancy  of  Indians, 
and  execrating  The  Whirlwind  and  all  his  crew. 

Parkman's  impatience  could  brook  the  delay 
no  longer,  so  he  rode  back  to  the  fort,  which  was 
about  eighteen  miles  distant,  to  learn  what  news 
he  could  of  the  war.  At  the  fort,  to  his  surprise, 
he  found  The  Whirlwind,  whom  the  traders,  in 
their  zeal  to  prevent  any  detriment  to  trade,  were 
urging  to  abandon  the  warpath.  The  Whirlwind 
was  fickle,  and  it  seemed  likely  that  the  traders 
would  persuade  him.  Parkman  returned  to  his 
camp  in  great  vexation,  for  his  philanthropy,  as 
he  said,  was  no  match  for  his  curiosity  to  sec  the 
Indian  on  the  warpath ;  but  he  tried  with  poor 


THE  OGILLALLAH  165 

success  to  console  himself  with  the  thought  that 
he  avoided  a  very  fair  chance  of  being  plun 
dered,  and  perhaps  stabbed  or  shot  into  the 
bargain.  In  a  few  days,  however,  they  were 
cheered  by  the  arrival  of  a  young  chief  from  The 
Whirlwind's  village,  who  stated  that  The  Whirl 
wind  had  not  been  persuaded  to  abandon  the  war 
path,  and  was  on  his  way  to  the  meeting  place, 
and  would  arrive  at  the  spot  where  Parkman  was 
encamped  in  two  days ;  and  so  it  came  to  pass. 
Parties  of  Indians  arrived  by  twos  and  threes, 
and  then  the  main  village  in  disorderly  array 
straggled  to  the  camping  ground,  and  pitched 
their  lodges,  above  one  hundred  and  fifty  in  num 
ber.  Here  they  lingered  for  several  days  ;  Park- 
man  made  friends  with  the  warriors  and  learned 
their  several  histories. 

After  tarrying  at  this  place  long  enough  to 
allow  a  proper  period  for  vacillation,  The  Whirl 
wind  made  up  his  mind  not  to  repair  to  the  meet 
ing  place  of  the  war-party,  but  to  cross  the  Black 
Hills  and  proceed  to  the  hunting  grounds  be 
yond,  so  that  his  people  might  secure  enough 
buffalo  meat  for  the  coming  season,  and  fresh 
skins  for  their  lodges.  When  that  should  have 
been  done,  The  Whirlwind  proposed  to  send  a 
band  of  warriors  against  the  enemy.  Parkman 
and  Shaw  held  a  council  together  whether  to  go 
to  the  meeting  place  in  the  hope  of  finding  other 


166  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

bands  of  Dakota  there,  or  to  abide  with  The 
Whirlwind's  village  and  share  its  fortunes.  They 
chose  the  latter  course,  and  started  on  July  first 
with  the  Indians,  but  before  they  had  ridden 
many  miles  a  message  came  from  a  fur  trader, 
Bisonette,  whom  they  had  met  at  the  fort,  saying 
that  he  was  going  to  the  meeting  place  and 
urging  them  to  go,  too ;  so  they  changed  their 
minds,  parted  company  with  The  Whirlwind,  who 
was  westward  bound,  and  turned  their  horses' 
heads  to  the  north.  On  the  third  day  they 
reached  the  appointed  place,  but  found  neither 
Indians  nor  Bisonette.  They  dismounted  and 
relieved  their  indignation  with  tobacco  and  criti 
cism  of  the  whole  aboriginal  race  in  America. 

For  myself,  I  was  vexed  beyond  measure ;  as 
I  well  knew  that  a  slight  aggravation  of  my  dis 
order  would  render  this  false  step  irrevocable, 
and  make  it  impossible  to  accomplish  effectually 
the  object  which  had  led  me  an  arduous  journey  of 
between  three  and  four  thousand  miles.  .  .  .  After 
supper  that  evening,  as  we  sat  round  the  fire,  I 
proposed  to  Shaw  to  wait  one  day  longer,  in  hopes 
of  Bisonette's  arrival,  and  if  he  should  not  come, 
to  send  the  [muleteer]  with  the  cart  and  baggage 
back  to  Fort  Laramie,  while  we  ourselves  followed 
The  Whirlwind's  village,  and  attempted  to  over 
take  it  as  it  passed  the  mountains.  Shaw,  not 
having  the  same  motive  for  hunting  Indians  that 
I  had,  was  averse  to  the  plan ;  I  therefore  re 
solved  to  go  alone.  This  design  I  adopted  very 


THE  OGILLALLAH  167 

unwillingly,  for  I  knew  that  in  the  present  state 
of  my  health  the  attempt  would  be  painful  and 
hazardous.  I  hoped  that  Bisonette  would  appear 
in  the  course  of  the  following  day,  and  bring  us 
some  information  by  which  to  direct  our  course. 

But  Bisonette  did  not  come,  though  Shaw  took 
a  day's  ride  to  find  him,  and  the  next  morning 
Parkman  made  ready  to  start.  He  had  exchanged 
Pontiac  for  a  fleet  little  mare,  Pauline,  and  all 
his  baggage  was  tied  by  leather  thongs  to  her 
saddle.  In  front  of  the  black,  high-bowed  moun 
tain-saddle  were  fastened  holsters  with  heavy 
pistols.  A  pair  of  saddle-bags,  a  blanket  tightly 
rolled,  a  small  parcel  of  Indian  presents  tied  up 
in  buffalo  skin,  a  leather  bag  of  flour,  and  a 
smaller  one  of  tea,  were  all  secured  behind,  and 
a  long  trail-rope  was  wound  round  her  neck. 
Raymond  had  a  strong  black  mule  equipped  in 
a  similar  manner.  They  crammed  their  powder- 
horns  to  the  throat  and  mounted.  Eaymond  was 
a  French  Canadian  trapper  hired  as  guide  the 
week  before.  "  I  will  meet  you  at  Fort  Laramie 
on  the  first  of  August,"  said  Parkman  to  Shaw. 
So  they  parted ;  Parkman  and  Raymond  rode 
off  in  the  direction  taken  by  The  Whirlwind's 
village,  and  Shaw  after  some  misadventures  re 
turned,  under  the  compulsion  of  ivy-poison,  to 
the  fort. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A   ROUGH   JOURNEY 

PARKMAN'S  way  led  across  wide  plains  and  rough 
ridges  of  hills,  all  cracked  and  split  with  fissure 
and  ravine,  and  dazzling  white  under  the  burn 
ing  sun ;  no  trees  cheered  the  waste,  except  a 
stray  pine  here  and  there.  But  at  sunset  they 
came  upon  a  line  of  thick  bushes  which  clothed 
the  banks  of  a  little  stream  ;  here  they  dis 
mounted,  made  their  fire,  and,  wrapped  in  their 
blankets,  fell  fast  asleep,  in  complete  disregard 
of  howling  wolves.  In  the  early  morning  the 
animals  were  grazing  and  Raymond  had  gone 
for  a  shot  at  an  antelope,  when  on  a  sudden 
Pauline  broke  her  hobbles  and  galloped  off,  and 
the  mule  bounded  after  her  as  best  he  could  on 
his  hobbled  legs.  Raymond,  still  near  enough  to 
hear  Parkman's  call,  ran  in  pursuit,  and  soon  all 
three  were  out  of  sight,  leaving  Parkman,  too 
weak  to  join  in  the  chase,  to  his  meditations. 

It  seemed  scarcely  possible  that  the  animals 
could  be  recovered.  If  they  were  not,  my  situa 
tion  was  one  of  serious  difficulty.  Shaw,  when  I 


A  ROUGH  JOURNEY  109 

left  him,  had  decided  to  move  that  morning,  but 
whither  he  had  not  determined.  To  look  for  him 
would  be  a  vain  attempt.  Fort  Laramie  was 
forty  miles  distant,  and  I  could  not  walk  a  mile 
without  great  effort.  Not  then  having  learned 
the  philosophy  of  yielding  to  disproportionate 
obstacles,  I  resolved,  come  what  would,  to  con 
tinue  the  pursuit  of  the  Indians.  Only  one  plan 
occurred  to  me :  this  was,  to  send  Raymond  to 
the  fort  with  an  order  for  more  horses,  while  I 
remained  on  the  spot,  awaiting  his  return,  which 
might  take  place  within  three  days.  But  to  re 
main  stationary  and  alone  for  three  days  in  a 
country  full  of  dangerous  Indians  was  not  the 
most  flattering  of  prospects.  Resolving  these 
matters,  I  grew  hungry;  and  as  our  stock  of 
provisions,  except  four  or  five  pounds  of  flour, 
was  by  this  time  exhausted,  I  left  the  camp  to 
see  what  game  I  could  find. 

A  further  danger  was  that  Raymond  might 
catch  the  animals  and  not  return.  But  Raymond 
was  faithful ;  after  a  chase  of  ten  miles  and 
more,  he  caught  the  fugitives,  and  Parkman  was 
able  to  start  again  upon  his  westward  course  in 
the  afternoon,  but  they  were  not  destined  to 
make  much  progress  that  day.  A  tremendous 
storm  deluged  them.  After  a  time  a  blue  rift 
appeared  in  the  clouds,  and,  growing  larger, 
made  room  for  a  rainbow ;  the  sun  shone  warm 
on  the  plain,  and  revealed  a  belt  of  woods  in 
front,  which  proffered  a  good  place  for  camp. 


170  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

Raymond  kindled  a  fire  with  great  difficulty. 
The  animals  turned  eagerly  to  feed  on  the  soft 
rich  grass,  while  I,  wrapping  myself  in  my 
blanket,  lay  down  and  gazed  on  the  evening 
landscape.  The  mountains,  whose  stern  features 
had  frowned  upon  us  so  gloomily,  seemed  lighted 
up  with  a  benignant  smile,  and  the  green,  wav 
ing  undulations  of  the  plain  were  gladdened  with 
warm  sunshine.  Wet,  ill,  and  wearied  as  I  was, 
my  heart  grew  lighter  at  the  view,  and  I  drew 
from  it  an  augury  of  good. 

The  next  day  they  struck  Laramie  Creek,  and 
following  the  stream  found  marks  of  the  Indians 
at  the  point  where  they  had  forded  the  river. 
Delighted  to  find  the  trail,  Parkman  and  Ray 
mond  dined  on  haunch  of  antelope,  and  in  high 
spirits  made  ready  to  follow  ;  but  as  Parkman 
was  saddling  the  exhausted  Pauline,  she  stag 
gered  and  fell.  With  an  effort  she  regained  her 
feet,  and  was  able  to  carry  her  master  at  a  slow 
pace.  The  trail  was  clear  at  one  spot  where  ant 
hills  held  the  dint  of  trailing  lodge-poles,  at 
another  it  disappeared  on  flinty  ground ;  then  it 
became  visible  again  where  the  leaves  of  the 
prickly  pear  showed  bruises.  Towards  evening 
they  lost  the  trail  completely,  but  far  away,  a 
little  to  their  right,  in  a  black  valley  at  the  foot 
of  Mount  Laramie,  which  rose  in  purple  dark 
ness  above  its  fellow  peaks,  they  could  see  volumes 
of  smoke  curling  upward.  At  first  they  were 


A  ROUGH  JOURNEY  171 

inclined  to  ride  thither,  but  reflection  dissuaded 
them,  and  they  afterward  had  reason  to  believe 
that  the  smoke  was  raised  as  a  decoy  by  hostile 
Crows.  That  night  they  lay  beside  Laramie 
Creek,  and  at  daybreak  Parkman  plunged  in, 
and  for  the  moment  felt  the  tingling  of  health ; 
but  the  sensation  was  momentary ;  as  soon  as  he 
was  in  the  saddle,  he  says,  "  I  hung  as  usual  in 
my  seat,  scarcely  able  to  hold  myself  erect." 

From  where  they  were  they  could  see  a  pass 
in  the  mountain  wall,  which  gave  cause  to  think 
that  the  Indians  had  gone  through  it. 

We  reached  the  gap,  which  was  like  a  deep 
notch  cut  into  the  mountain  ridge,  and  here  we 
soon  found  an  ant-hill  furrowed  with  the  mark 
of  a  lodge-pole.  This  was  quite  enough ;  there 
could  be  no  doubt  now.  As  we  rode  on,  the  open 
ing  growing  narrower,  the  Indians  had  been  com 
pelled  to  march  in  closer  order,  and  the  traces 
became  numerous  and  distinct.  The  gap  termi 
nated  in  a  rocky  gateway,  leading  into  a  rough 
and  steep  defile,  between  two  precipitous  moun 
tains.  Here  grass  and  weeds  were  bruised  to  frag 
ments  by  the  throng  that  had  passed  through. 
We  moved  slowly  over  the  rocks,  up  the  passage, 
and  in  this  toilsome  manner  advanced  for  an  hour 
or  two,  bare  precipices,  hundreds  of  feet  high, 
shooting  up  on  either  hand.  Raymond,  with  his 
hardy  mule,  was  a  few  rods  before  me  when  we 
came  to  the  foot  of  an  ascent  steeper  than  the 
rest,  and  which  I  trusted  might  be  the  highest 


172  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

point  of  the  defile.  Pauline  strained  upward  for 
a  few  yards,  moaning  and  stumbling,  and  then 
came  to  a  dead  stop,  unable  to  proceed  farther. 
I  dismounted,  and  attempted  to  lead  her ;  but 
my  own  exhausted  strength  soon  gave  out,  so  I 
loosened  the  trail-rope  from  her  neck,  and  tying 
it  round  my  arm,  crawled  up  on  my  hands  and 
knees.  I  gained  the  top,  totally  spent,  the  sweat- 
drops  trickling  from  my  forehead.  Pauline  stood 
like  a  statue  by  my  side,  her  shadow  falling  upon 
the  scorching  rock ;  and  in  this  shade,  for  there 
was  no  other,  I  lay  for  some  time,  scarcely  able 
to  move  a  limb.  All  around,  the  black  crags, 
sharp  as  needles  at  the  top,  stood  baking  in  the 
sun,  without  tree  or  bush  or  blade  of  grass  to 
cover  their  nakedness.  The  whole  scene  seemed 
parched  with  a  pitiless,  insufferable  heat.  [After 
a  pause  Parkman  was  able  to  mount  again,  and 
they  descended  the  defile  on  the  farther  side  ; 
here  they  were  cheered  by  a  clump  of  trees,  a 
fringe  of  grass,  and  a  little  icy  brook.  At  the 
foot  of  the  mountains  lay  a  plain,  a  half  dozen 
miles  across  and  bad  riding,  and  beyond  the 
plain  there  were  thick  woods  and  more  moun 
tains  ;  through  these  a  rocky  passage  wound 
among  gigantic  cliffs  and  led  into  a  second 
plain.  Here  they  stopped  to  eat.]  When  we 
had  finished  our  meal  Raymond  struck  fire,  and 
lighting  his  pipe,  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  a  tree 
to  smoke.  For  some  time  I  observed  him  puffing 
away  with  a  face  of  unusual  solemnity.  Then 
slowly  taking  the  pipe  from  his  lips,  he  iooked 
up  and  remarked  that  we  had  better  not  go  any 
farther.  "  Why  not  ?  "  asked  I.  He  said  that  the 


A  ROUGH  JOURNEY  173 

country  was  become  very  dangerous,  that  we 
were  entering  the  range  of  the  Snakes,  Arapa- 
hoes,  and  Gros-ventre  Blackfeet,  and  that  if  any 
of  their  wandering  parties  should  meet  us,  it 
would  cost  us  our  lives ;  but  he  added,  with 
blunt  fidelity,  that  he  would  go  anywhere  I 
wished.  I  told  him  to  bring  up  the  animals, 
and  mounting  them  we  proceeded  again.  I  con 
fess  that,  as  we  moved  forward,  the  prospect 
seemed  but  a  doubtful  one.  I  would  have  given 
the  world  for  my  ordinary  elasticity  of  body  and 
mind,  and  for  a  horse  of  such  strength  and  spirit 
as  the  journey  required.  Closer  and  closer  the 
rocks  gathered  round  us,  growing  taller  and 
steeper,  and  pressing  more  and  more  upon  our 
path.  We  entered  at  length  a  defile  which,  in 
its  way,  I  never  have  seen  rivaled.  The  moun 
tain-was  cracked  from  top  to  bottom,  and  we 
were  creeping  along  the  bottom  of  the  fissure,  in 
dampness  and  gloom,  with  the  clink  of  hoofs  on 
the  loose  shingly  rocks,  and  the  hoarse  murmur 
ing  of  a  petulant  brook  which  kept  us  company. 
.  .  .  Looking  up,  we  could  see  a  narrow  ribbon 
of  bright  blue  sky  between  the  dark  edges  of  the 
opposing  cliffs.  This  did  not  last  long.  The  pas 
sage  soon  widened,  and  sunbeams  found  their 
way  down,  flashing  upon  the  black  waters.  The 
defile  would  spread  to  many  rods  in  width  ; 
then  we  would  be  moving  again  in  darkness. 
The  passage  seemed  about  four  miles  long,  and 
before  we  reached  the  end  of  it  the  unshod  hoofs 
of  our  animals  were  broken,  and  their  legs  cut 
by  the  sharp  stones.  Issuing  from  the  mountain, 
we  found  another  plain.  All  around  it  stood  a 


174  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

circle  of  precipices  that  seemed  the  impersona 
tion  of  Silence  and  Solitude. 

From  this  amphitheatre  there  was  but  one 
outlet,  over  a  low  hill,  and  beyond  that  the 
prairie  spread  wide  and  desolate.  Here  they 
dismounted  for  the  night  and  dined  on  their 
last  bit  of  antelope  steak.  Parkman  was  about 
to  shoot  a  rabbit,  in  order  to  replenish  their 
larder,  but  Raymond  out  of  not  unnecessary 
caution  stopped  him,  for  fear  lest  the  report 
might  attract  visitors. 

That  night  for  the  first  time  we  considered 
that  the  danger  to  which  we  were  exposed  was 
of  a  somewhat  serious  character ;  and  to  those 
who  are  unacquainted  with  Indians  it  may  seem 
strange  that  our  chief  apprehensions  arose  from 
the  supposed  proximity  of  the  people  whom  we 
intended  to  visit.  Had  any  straggling  party  of 
these  faithful  friends  caught  sight  of  us  from 
the  hilltop,  they  would  probably  have  returned 
in  the  night  to  plunder  us  of  our  horses,  and 
perhaps  of  our  scalps.  But  the  prairie  is  unfa 
vorable  to  nervousness  ;  and  I  presume  that 
neither  Raymond  nor  I  thought  twice  of  the 
matter  that  evening.  [The  next  day  they  lost 
the  trail  again  on  a  broad  flat  plain,  with  no 
thing  in  front  but  a  long  line  of  hills.  Raymond 
became  discouraged.]  "  Now,"  said  he,  "  we  had 
better  turn  round."  But  as  Raymond's  bourgeois 
thought  otherwise,  we  descended  the  hill  and  be 
gan  to  cross  the  plain.  We  had  come  so  far  that 


A  ROUGH  JOURNEY  175 

neither  Pauline's  limbs  nor  my  own  could  carry 
me  back  to  Fort  Laramie.  I  considered  that 
the  lines  of  expediency  and  inclination  tallied 
exactly,  and  that  the  most  prudent  course  was 
to  keep  forward. 

On  they  went,  and  drearily  climbed  the  far- 
off  hills ;  from  the  top  Parkman  discerned  a  few 
dark  spots  moving,  which  he  took  to  be  buffalo, 
but  Raymond  shouted  "  Horses  !  "  and  galloped 
on,  lashing  his  mule  to  its  best  pace,  and  in  a 
few  minutes,  standing  in  a  circle,  they  saw  the 
lodges  of  the  Ogillallah.  "  Never,  says  Parkman, 
"did  the  heart  of  wanderer  more  gladden  at  the 
sight  of  home  than  did  mine  at  the  sight  of  that 
Indian  camp." 

There,  after  the  customary  ceremony  of  shak 
ing  hands  with  everybody,  the  first  business  was 
to  choose  a  host,  and  after  inquiry  Parkman  de 
cided  to  partake  of  Big  Crow's  hospitality. 

So  Raymond  and  I  rode  up  to  the  entrance 
of  Big  Crow's  lodge.  A  squaw  came  out  imme 
diately  and  took  our  horses.  I  put  aside  the 
leather  flap  that-  covered  the  low  opening,  and, 
stooping,  entered  the  Big  Crow's  dwelling.  There 
I  could  see  the  chief  in  the  dim  light,  seated  at 
one  side,  on  a  pile  of  buffalo  robes.  He  greeted 
me  with  a  guttural  "  How,  cola !  "  I  requested 
Reynal  [a  Canadian  acquaintance  hunting  with 
the  Indians]  to  tell  him  that  Raymond  and  I  were 
come  to  live  with  him.  The  Big  Crow  gave  an- 


176  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

other  low  exclamation.  The  announcement  may 
seem  intrusive,  but,  in  fact,  every  Indian  in  the 
village  would  have  deemed  himself  honored  that 
white  men  should  give  such  preference  to  his  hos 
pitality.  The  squaw  spread  a  buffalo  robe  for  us 
in  the  guest's  place  at  the  head  of  the  lod<£.  Our 
saddles  were  brought  in,  and  scarcely  were  we 
seated  upon  them  before  the  place  was  thronged 
with  Indians,  crowding  in  to  see  us.  The  Big 
Crow  produced  his  pipe  and  filled  it  with  the 
mixture  of  tobacco  and  shongsasha,  or  red  willow 
bark.  Round  and  round  it  passed,  and  a  lively 
conversation  went  forward.  Meanwhile  a  squaw 
placed  before  the  two  guests  a  wooden  bowl  of 
boiled  buffalo-meat ;  but  unhappily  this  was  not 
the  only  banquet  destined  to  be  inflicted  on  us. 
One  after  another,  boys  and  young  squaws  thrust 
their  heads  in  at  the  opening,  to  invite  us  to 
various  feasts  in  different  parts  of  the  village. 
For  half  an  hour  and  more  we  were  actively  en 
gaged  in  passing  from  lodge  to  lodge,  tasting  in 
each  of  the  bowl  of  meat  set  before  us,  and  inhal 
ing  a  whiff  or  two  from  our  entertainer's  pipe. 

The  Whirlwind  was  not  there ;  he  had  not 
come,  rumor  said,  from  fear  of  going  so  far  into 
the  enemy's  country,  for  the.  village  was  now 
encamped  on  the  Snake  hunting  ground  ;  the 
main  body  of  the  community  had  disregarded 
his  authority,  and  were  on  their  way  to  hunt  the 
buffalo. 

The  next  day  brought  with  it  a  return  of  hos 
pitality. 


A  ROUGH  JOURNEY  177 

I  intended  that  day  to  give  the  Indians  a 
feast,  by  way  of  conveying  a  favorable  impres 
sion  of  my  character  and  dignity ;  and  a  white 
dog  is  the  dish  which  the  customs  of  the  Dakota 
prescribe  for  all  occasions  of  formality  and  im 
portance.  I  consulted  Reynal :  he  soon  discovered 
that  an  old  woman  in  the  next  lodge  was  owner 
of  the  white  dog  [a  big  dog  on  which  Parkman 
had  cast  his  eye].  I  took  a  gaudy  cotton  hand 
kerchief,  and,  laying  it  on  the  ground,  arranged 
some  vermilion,  beads,  and  other  trinkets  upon  it. 
Then  the  old  squaw  was  summoned.  I  pointed  to 
the  dog  and  to  the  handkerchief.  She  gave  a 
scream  of  delight,  snatched  up  the  prize,  and  van 
ished  with  it  into  her  lodge.  For  a  few  more  trifles, 
I  engaged  the  services  of  two  other  squaws,  each 
of  whom  took  the  white  dog  by  one  of  his  paws, 
and  led  him  away  behind  the  lodges.  Having 
killed  him  they  threw  him  into  a  fire  to  singe ; 
then  chopped  him  up  and  put  him  into  two  large 
kettles  to  boil.  Meanwhile  I  told  Raymond  to 
fry  in  buffalo-fat  what  little  flour  we  had  left, 
and  also  to  make  a  kettle  of  tea  as  an  additional 
luxury.  The  Big  Crow's  squaw  was  briskly  at 
work  sweeping  out  the  lodge  for  the  approaching 
festivity.  I  confided  to  my  host  himself  the  task 
of  inviting  the  guests,  thinking  that  I  might 
thereby  shift  from  my  own  shoulders  the  odium 
of  neglect  and  oversight.  When  feasting  is  in 
question  one  hour  of  the  day  serves  an  Indian  as 
well  as  another.  My  entertainment  came  off  at 
about  eleven  o'clock.  At  that  hour  Reynal  and 
Raymond  walked  across  the  area  of  the  village, 
to  the  admiration  of  the  inhabitants,  carrying  the 


178  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

two  kettles  of  dog  meat  slung  on  a  pole  between 
them.  These  they  placed  in  the  centre  of  the 
lodge,  and  then  went  back  for  the  bread  and  the 
tea.  Meanwhile  I  had  put  on  a  pair  of  brilliant 
moccasins,  and  substituted  for  my  old  buckskin 
frock  a  coat  which  I  had  brought  with  me  in  view 
of  such  public  occasions.  I  also  made  careful  use 
of  the  razor,  an  operation  which  no  man  will  neg 
lect  who  desires  to  gain  the  good  opinion  of  In 
dians.  Thus  attired,  I  seated  myself  between  Rey- 
n al  and  Raymond  at  the  head  of  the  lodge.  Only 
a  few  minutes  elapsed  before  all  the  guests  had 
come  in  and  were  seated  on  the  ground,  wedged 
together  in  a  close  circle.  Each  brought  with  him 
a  wooden  bowl  to  hold  his  share  of  the  repast. 
When  all  were  assembled,  two  of  the  officials, 
called  "  soldiers  "  by  the  white  men,  came  for 
ward  with  ladles  made  of  the  horn  of  the  Rocky 
Mountain  sheep,  and  began  to  distribute  the 
feast,  assigning  a  double  share  to  the  old  men 
and  chiefs.  The  dog  vanished  with  astonishing 
celerity,  and  each  guest  turned  his  dish  bottom 
upward  to  show  that  all  was  gone.  Then  the 
bread  was  distributed  in  its  turn,  and  finally  the 
tea.  As  the  "soldiers"  poured  it  out  into  the  same 
wooden  bowls  that  had  served  for  the  substantial 
part  of  the  meal,  I  thought  it  had  a  particularly 
curious  and  uninviting  color.  "  Oh,"  said  Reynal, 
"  there  was  not  tea  enough,  so  I  stirred  some  soot 
in  the  kettle,  to  make  it  look  strong !  "  Fortu 
nately  an  Indian's  palate  is  not  very  discriminat 
ing.  The  tea  was  well  sweetened,  and  that  was 
all  they  cared  for.  Now,  the  feast  being  over,  the 
time  for  speechmaking  was  come.  The  Big  Crow 


A  ROUGH  JOURNEY  179 

produced  a  flat  piece  of  wood,  on  which  he  cut 
up  tobacco  and  shongsasha,  and  mixed  them  in 
due  proportions.  The  pipes  were  filled  and  passed 
from  hand  to  hand  around  the  company.  Then 
I  began  my  speech,  each  sentence  being  inter 
preted  by  Reynal  as  I  went  on,  and  echoed  by 
the  whole  audience  with  the  usual  exclamations 
of  assent  and  approval.  As  nearly  as  I  can  recol 
lect,  it  was  as  follows  :  "  I  had  come,"  I  told  them, 
"  from  a  country  so  far  distant  that  at  the  rate 
they  travel,  they  could  not  reach  it  in  a  year."  — 
"  How !  How !  "  -  "  There  the  Meneaska  (white 
men)  were  more  numerous  than  the  blades  of 
grass  on  the  prairie.  The  squaws  were  far  more 
beautiful  than  any  they  had  ever  seen,  and  all 
the  men  were  brave  warriors."  —  "  How  !  How  ! 
How  !  "  —  I  was  assailed  by  twinges  of  conscience 
as  I  uttered  these  last  words.  But  I  recovered 
myself  and  began  again.  "  While  I  was  living  in 
the  Meneaska  lodges,  I  had  heard  of  the  Ogil- 
lallah,  how  great  and  brave  a  nation  they  were, 
how  they  loved  the  whites,  and  how  well  they 
could  hunt  the  buffalo  and  strike  their  enemies. 
I  resolved  to  come  and  see  if  all  that  I  heard  was 
true."  -"How!  How!  How!"  -"As  I  had 
come  on  horseback  through  the  mountains,  I  had 
been  able  to  bring  them  only  a  few  presents."  — 
"  How !  "  —  "  But  I  had  enough  tobacco  to  give 
them  all  a  small  piece.  They  might  smoke  it,  and 
see  how  much  better  it  was  than  the  tobacco  which 
they  got  from  the  traders."  —  "  How !  How ! 
How !  "  —  "  I  had  plenty  of  powder,  lead,  knives, 
and  tobacco  at  Fort  Laramie.  These  I  was  anx 
ious  to  give  them,  and  if  any  of  them  should  come 


180  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

to  the  fort  before  I  went  away,  I  would  make 
them  handsome  presents  !  "  —  "  How  !  How  ! 
How  !  How !  "  Raymond  then  cut  up  and  distri 
buted  among  them  two  or  three  pounds  of  tobacco, 
and  old  Mene-Seela  [the  principal  chief]  began  to 
make  a  reply.  It  was  long,  but  the  following  was 
the  pith  of  it.  "  He  had  always  loved  the  whites. 
They  were  the  wisest  people  on  earth.  He  be 
lieved  they  could  do  anything,  and  he  was  always 
glad  when  any  of  them  came  to  live  in  the  Ogil- 
lallah  lodges.  It  was  true  I  had  not  made  them 
many  presents,  but  the  reason  of  it  was  plain. 
It  was  clear  that  I  liked  them,  or  I  never  should 
have  come  so  far  to  find  their  village  !  "  Other 
speeches  were  made.  A  short  silence  followed, 
and  then  the  old  man  (Mene-Seela)  struck  up  a 
discordant  chant,  which  I  was  told  was  a  song  of 
thanks  for  the  entertainment  I  had  given  them. 
"  Now,"  said  he,  "  let  us  go,  and  give  the  white 
men  a  chance  to  breathe."  So  the  company  all 
dispersed  into  the  open  air,  and  for  some  time  the 
old  chief  was  walking  round  the  village,  singing 
his  song  in  praise  of  the  feast,  after  the  custom  of 
the  nation. 


CHAPTEK  XVII 

LIFE   IN   AN   INDIAN   VILLAGE 

AFTER  some  indecision,  for  the  village  was  with 
out  a  leader,  —  even  The  Whirlwind  when  he  was 
present  had  no  authority,  —  the  Indians  set  for 
ward  again  for  the  hunting  fields.  The  line  of 
march  was  always  highly  picturesque,  painted 
warriors  riding  gayly,  iron-tipped  lances  glitter 
ing  in  the  sun,  packhorses  heavily  laden  with 
bundles  and  babies,  or  dragging  lodge  poles,  po 
nies  ridden  by  grinning  young  squaws,  old  men 
on  foot  wrapped  in  white  buffalo  robes,  slim 
boys  and  girls,  barking  dogs,  all  apparently  led 
by  the  genius  of  confusion.  It  was  always  as 
good  as  a  play  to  Parkman,  though  he  was 
hardly  in  fit  state  of  body  to  enjoy  a  pageant. 

At  our  encampment  that  afternoon  I  was  at 
tacked  anew  by  my  old  disorder.  In  half  an  hour 
the  strength  that  I  had  been  gaining  for  a  week 
past  had  vanished  again,  and  I  became  like  a 
man  in  a  dream.  But  at  sunset  I  lay  down  in 
the  Big  Crow's  lodge  and  slept,  totally  uncon 
scious  till  the  morning.  The  first  thing  that 


182  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

awakened  me  was  a  hoarse  flapping  over  my 
head,  and  a  sudden  light  that  poured  in  upon 
me.  The  camp  was  breaking  up,  and  the  squaws 
were  moving  the  covering  from  the  lodge.  I 
arose  and  shook  off  my  blanket  with  the  feeling 
of  perfect  health  ;  but  scarcely  had  I  gained  my 
feet  when  a  sense  of  my  helpless  condition  was 
once  more  forced  upon  me,  and  I  found  myself 
scarcely  able  to  stand.  Raymond  had  brought 
up  Pauline  and  the  mule,  and  I  stooped  to  raise 
my  saddle  from  the  ground.  My  strength  was 
unequal  to  the  task.  "  You  must  saddle  her," 
said  I  to  Raymond  as  I  sat  down  again  on  a  pile 
of  buffalo  robes.  He  did  so,  and  with  a  painful 
effort  I  mounted.  As  we  were  passing  over  a 
great  plain  surrounded  by  long  broken  ridges, 
I  rode  slowly  in  advance  of  the  Indians,  with 
thoughts  that  wandered  far  from  the  time  and 
the  place.  Suddenly  the  sky  darkened,  and  thun 
der  began  to  mutter.  Clouds  were  rising  over 
the  hills,  as  dark  as  the  first  forebodings  of  an 
approaching  calamity ;  and  in  a  moment  all 
around  was  wrapped  in  shadow.  I  looked  be 
hind.  The  Indians  had  stopped  to  prepare  for 
the  approaching  storm,  and  the  dense  mass  of 
savages  stretched  far  to  the  right  and  left.  Since 
the  first  attack  of  my  disorder  the  effects  of  rain 
upon  me  had  usually  been  injurious  in  the  ex 
treme.  I  had  no  strength  to  spare,  having  at 
that  moment  scarcely  enough  to  keep  my  seat  on 
horseback.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  it  pressed 
upon  me  as  a  strong  probability  that  I  might 
never  leave  those  deserts.  "  Well,"  thought  I  to 
myself,  "  the  prairie  makes  quick  and  sharp 


LIFE   IN  AN  INDIAN   VILLAGE         183 

work.  Better  to  die  here,  in  the  saddle  to  the 
last,  than  to  stifle  in  the  hot  air  of  a  sick  cham 
ber  ;  and  a  thousand  times  better  than  to  drag  out 
life,  as  many  have  done,  in  the  helpless  inaction 
of  lingering  disease."  So,  drawing  the  buffalo 
robe  on  which  I  sat  over  my  head,  I  waited  till 
the  storm  should  come.  It  broke  at  last  with  a 
sudden  burst  of  fury,  and  passing  away  as  rap 
idly  as  it  came,  left  the  sky  clear  again.  My  re 
flections  served  me  no  other  purpose  than  to  look 
back  upon  as  a  piece  of  curious  experience ;  for 
the  rain  did  not  produce  the  ill  effects  that  I  had 
expected. 

The  Indians,  being  in  enemy's  country,  were 
anxious  to  lose  no  time,  and  pushed  on  westward  ; 
in  a  day  or  two  their  scouts  reported  herds  of 
buffalo  marching  slowly  over  the  hills  in  the  dis 
tance.  The  lodges  were  pitched,  and  things  got 
ready  for  the  hunt.  Early  in  the  morning  the 
huntsmen  were  off. 

I  had  taken  no  food,  and  not  being  at  all 
ambitious  of  further  abstinence,  I  went  into  my 
host's  lodge,  which  his  squaws  had  set  up  with 
wonderful  dispatch,  and  sat  down  in  the  centre, 
as  a  gentle  hint  that  I  was  hungry.  A  wooden 
bowl  was  soon  set  before  me,  filled  with  the  nu 
tritious  preparation  of  dried  meat  called  pem- 
mican  by  the  northern  voyagers  and  wasna  by 
the  Dakota.  Taking  a  handful  to  break  my  fast 
upon,  I  left  the  lodge  just  in  time  to  see  the  last 
band  of  hunters  disappear  over  the  ridge  of  the 
neighboring  hill.  I  mounted  Pauline  and  gal- 


184  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

loped  in  pursuit,  riding  rather  by  the  balance 
than  by  any  muscular  strength  that  remained  to 
me.  ...  I  left  camp  that  morning  with  a  philo 
sophic  resolution.  Neither  I  nor  my  horse  were 
at  that  time  fit  for  such  sport,  and  I  had  deter 
mined  to  remain  a  quiet  spectator  ;  but  amid  the 
rush  of  horses  and  buffalo,  the  uproar  and  the 
dust,  I  found  it  impossible  to  sit  still ;  and  as 
four  or  five  buffalo  ran  past  me  in  a  line,  I  lashed 
Pauline  in  pursuit.  We  went  plunging  through 
the  water  and  the  quicksands,  and  clambering 
the  bank,  chased  them  through  the  wild  sage 
bushes  that  covered  the  rising  ground  beyond. 
But  neither  her  native  spirit  nor  the  blows  of 
the  knotted  bull-hide  could  supply  the  place  of 
poor  Pauline's  exhausted  strength.  We  could 
not  gain  an  inch  upon  the  fugitives. 

After  a  shot,  which  hit  but  did  not  maim  the 
cow  he  was  chasing,  Parkman  turned  back  and 
rode  slowly  to  camp. 

In  this  place  they  remained  five  days,  the 
braves  hunting  every  day  and  killing  great  num 
bers  of  buffaloes.  The  hides  were  skinned, 
scraped,  and  rubbed,  the  meat  was  cut  up  and 
hung  to  dry  in  the  sun.  Parkman,  and  also 
Pauline,  were  too  tired  to  take  further  part  in 
the  hunting,  so  he  strolled  over  the  prairie  for 
an  occasional  shot  at  an  antelope,  and  watched 
his  hosts  and  their  squaws  at  their  various  occu 
pations.  His  repose  at  night  was  not  all  that 
weary  limbs  might  wish.  In  the  next  lodge 


LIFE   IN   AN   INDIAN  VILLAGE         185 

gambling  would  be  going  on,  fast  and  furious ; 
ornaments,  horses,  garments,  and  weapons  were 
staked  upon  the  chances  of  the  game  to  the  ac 
companiment  of  yells,  chants,  and  the  thumping 
of  an  Indian  drum.  In  Parkmau's  own  lodge 
Big  Crow  would  rouse  himself  every  night  at 
twelve  o'clock  and  sing  a  doleful  dirge  to  ap 
pease  the  spirits ;  and  the  children,  who  were  al 
lowed  to  eat  too  much  during  the  day  and  were 
petted  and  generally  spoiled,  had  a  habit  of 
crawling  about  the  lodge  over  Parkman  and 
every  other  object,  and  sometimes  they  cuddled 
under  his  blanket.  He  was  obliged  to  keep  a 
short  stick  at  hand  and  punch  their  heads  some 
five  times  during  the  night. 

On  the  twenty -fifth  the  camp  broke  up,  and 
the  return  journey  was  begun.  .  .  .  The  lodges 
were  pitched  early,  and  the  chiefs  sat  in  a  circle 
smoking  and  chaffing  one  another. 

When  the  first  pipe  was  smoked  out,  I  rose 
and  withdrew  to  the  lodge  of  my  host.  Here  I 
was  stooping,  in  the  act  of  taking  off  my  powder- 
horn  and  bullet-pouch,  when  suddenly,  and  close 
at  hand,  pealing  loud  and  shrill,  and  in  right 
good  earnest,  came  the  terrific  yell  of  the  war- 
whoop.  Kongra-Tonga's  [Black  Crow]  squaw 
snatched  up  her  youngest  child  and  ran  out  of 
the  lodge.  I  followed,  and  found  the  whole  vil 
lage  in  confusion,  resounding  with  cries  and 
yells.  The  circle  of  old  men  in  the  centre  had 


186  FRANCIS   PAIIKMAN 

vanished.  The  warriors,  with  glittering  eyes, 
came  darting,  weapons  in  hand,  out  of  the  low 
openings  of  the  lodges,  and  running  with  wild 
yells  towards  the  farther  end  of  the  village.  Ad 
vancing  a  few  rods  in  that  direction,  I  saw  a 
crowd  in  furious  agitation.  Just  then  I  distin 
guished  the  voice  of  Reynal  [a  French  Canadian 
living  with  the  Indians]  shouting  to  me  from 
a  distance ;  he  was  calling  to  me  to  come  over 
and  join  him  [on  the  farther  side  of  a  little 
stream].  This  was  clearly  the  wisest  course,  un 
less  we  wished  to  involve  ourselves  in  the  fray  ; 
so  I  turned  to  go,  but  just  then  a  pair  of  eyes, 
gleaming  like  a  snake's,  and  an  aged  familiar 
countenance  was  thrust  from  the  opening  of  a 
neighboring  lodge,  and  out  bolted  old  Mene- 
Seela,  full  of  fight,  clutching  his  bow  and  arrows 
in  one  hand  and  his  knife  in  the  other.  .  .  .  The 
women  with  loud  screams  were  hurrying  with 
their  children  in  their  arms  to  place  them  out 
of  danger,  and  I  observed  some  hastening  to 
prevent  mischief  by  carrying  away  all  the  wea 
pons  they  could  lay  hands  on.  On  a  rising  ground 
close  to  the  camp  stood  a  line  of  old  women  sing 
ing  a  medicine-song  to  allay  the  tumult.  As  I 
approached  the  side  of  the  brook,  I  heard  gun 
shots  behind  me,  and  turning  back  saw  the  crowd 
had  separated  into  two  long  lines  of  naked  war 
riors  confronting  each  other  at  a  respectful  dis 
tance,  and  yelling  and  jumping  about  to  dodge 
the  shots  of  their  adversaries,  while  they  dis 
charged  bullets  and  arrows  against  each  other. 
At  the  same  time  certain  sharp,  humming  sounds 
in  the  air  over  my  head,  like  the  flight  of  beetles 


LIFE   IN   AN   INDIAN  VILLAGE          187 

on  a  summer  evening,  warned  me  that  the  danger 
was  not  wholly  confined  to  the  immediate  scene 
of  the  fray.  So,  wading  through  the  brook,  I 
joined  Reynal  and  Raymond,  and  we  sat  down 
on  the  grass,  in  the  posture  of  an  armed  neu 
trality,  to  watch  the  result.  Happily  it  may  be 
for  ourselves,  though  contrary  to  our  expectation, 
the  disturbance  was  quelled  almost  as  soon  as  it 
began.  When  I  looked  again,  the  combatants 
were  once  more  mingled  together  in  a  mass. 
Though  yells  sbunded  occasionally  from  the 
throng,  the  firing  had  entirely  ceased,  and  I  ob 
served  five  or  six  persons  moving  busily  about, 
as  if  acting  the  part  of  peacemakers.  One  of 
the  village  heralds  or  criers  proclaimed  in  a  loud 
voice  something  which  my  two  companions  were 
too  much  engrossed  in  their  own  observations  to 
translate  for  me.  The  crowd  began  to  disperse, 
though  many  a  deep-set  black  eye  still  glittered 
with  an  unnatural  lustre,  as  the  warriors  slowly 
withdrew  to  their  lodges.  This  fortunate  sup 
pression  of  the  disturbance  was  owing  to  a  few 
of  the  old  men,  less  pugnacious  than  Mene-Seela, 
who  boldly  ran  in  between  the  combatants,  and, 
aided  by  some  of  the  "  soldiers,"  or  Indian  police, 
succeeded  in  effecting  their  object. 

It  was  contrary  to  etiquette  to  inquire  into  the 
cause  of  the  brawl,  and  Parkman  only  learned  it 
some  time  afterwards.  Mad  Wolf  had  presented 
Tall  Bear  with  a  horse,  expecting,  according  to 
the  well-understood  custom,  to  receive  another 
gift  of  equal  value  in  return.  Tall  Bear,  how- 


188  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

ever,  made  no  reciprocal  gift,  whereupon  Mad 
Wolf  strode  up  to  Tall  Bear's  lodge,  untied  the 
horse  he  had  given,  and  started  to  lead  it  home ; 
Tall  Bear  leapt  from  his  lodge  and  stabbed  the 
horse  dead.  Mad  Wolf,  quick  as  a  flash,  drew 
an  arrow  to  the  head  against  Tall  Bear's  breast, 
but  the  other  stood  impassive  as  a  statue,  and 
Mad  Wolf  lowered  his  bow.  Partisans  rallied 
to  each,  and  the  fray  began,  but  no  one  was 
killed,  thanks  to  the  vigorous  intervention  of  the 
old  chiefs  and  of  the  "soldiers,"  a  species  of  con 
stabulary  appointed  in  council  and  charged  with 
the  duty  of  preserving  the  peace. 

The  next  step  in  the  Indian  preparation  for 
winter  was  to  cut  lodge  poles.  For  these,  which 
could  only  be  cut  from  tall  straight  saplings,  it 
was  necessary  to  go  to  the  Black  Hills.  So  they 
traveled  eastward  for  two  days  and  arrived  at 
the  foot  of  the  gloomy  ridges ;  here,  after  trav 
ersing  a  long  ravine  between  precipitous  cliffs 
and  masses  of  rock,  they  came  upon  the  desired 
groves.  The  Indians  cut  their  poles,  while  Park- 
man  cultivated  the  friendship  of  Mene-Seela, 
and  persuaded  Black  Crow,  the  White  Eagle, 
and  the  Panther,  his  more  intimate  comrades, 
to  spin  yarns  of  their  adventures.  Most  of  the 
Indians  Parkman  did  not  trust,  and  did  not  like. 

They  were  thorough  savages.  Neither  their 
manners  nor  their  ideas  were  in  the  slightest 


LIFE  IN  AN  INDIAN  VILLAGE         189 

degree  modified  by  contact  with  civilization. 
They  knew  nothing  of  the  power  and  real  char 
acter  of  the  white  men,  and  their  children  would 
scream  in  terror  when  they  [first]  saw  me.  Their 
religion,  superstitions,  and  prejudices  were  those 
handed  down  to  them  from  immemorial  time. 
They  fought  with  the  weapons  that  their  fathers 
fought  with,  and  wore  the  same  garments  of 
skins.  They  were  living  representatives  of  the 
"  stone  age  ;  "  for  though  their  lances  and  arrows 
were  tipped  with  iron  procured  from  the  traders, 
they  still  used  the  rude  stone  mallet  of  the  prime 
val  world.  .  .  .  For  the  most  part,  a  civilized 
white  man  can  discover  very  few  points  of  sym 
pathy  between  his  own  nature  and  that  of  an 
Indian.  With  every  disposition  to  do  justice  to 
their  good  qualities,  he  must  be  conscious  that 
an  impassable  gulf  lies  between  him  and  his  red 
brethren.  No,  so  alien  to  himself  do  they  appear 
that,  after  breathing  the  air  of  the  prairie  for  a 
few  months  or  weeks,  he  begins  to  look  upon 
them  as  a  troublesome  and  dangerous  species  of 
wild  beast.  Yet,  in  the  countenance  of  the  Pan 
ther  (.  .  .  who,  unless  his  face  greatly  belied 
him,  was  free  from  the  jealousy,  suspicion,  and 
malignant  cunning  of  his  people),  I  gladly  read 
that  there  were  at  least  some  points  of  sympathy 
between  him  and  me. 

As  they  approached  Fort  Laramie  Parkman 
became  eager  to  make  haste,  for  August  1st,  the 
day  on  which  he  had  promised  to  meet  Shaw, 
had  already  come ;  so,  when  the  buttes,  near 
which  he  had  encamped  while  waiting  for  the 


190  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

unpunctual  Whirlwind,  lifted  their  rough  cones 
above  the  horizon,  he  rode  away  from  his  savage 
hosts  in  company  with  Raymond  and  one  Indian 
who  was  bound  for  the  fort.  Several  of  the  In 
dians  proffered  him  their  horses  as  parting  pre 
sents,  for  the  sake  of  receiving  Pauline  in  return, 
but  their  offers  were  promptly  declined ;  Park- 
man  shook  hands  with  Reynal,  but  in  deference 
to  aboriginal  custom,  took  no  leave  of  the  In 
dians,  and  with  mixed  feelings  of  regret  and 
pleasure  parted  with  them  forever.  That  night 
they  encamped  near  their  old  site. 

"  First,  however,  our  wide-mouthed  friend  [the 
Indian]  had  taken  the  precaution  of  carefully 
examining  the  neighborhood.  He  reported  that 
eight  men,  counting  them  on  his  fingers,  had  been 
encamped  there  not  long  before,  —  Bisonette, 
Paul  Dorion,  Antoine  Le  Rouge,  Richardson, 
and  four  others  whose  names  he  could  not  tell. 
All  this  proved  strictly  correct.  By  what  instinct 
he  had  arrived  at  such  accurate  conclusions,  I 
am  utterly  at  a  loss  to  divine. 

Parkman's  impatience  got  them  up  long  be 
fore  sunrise,  and  they  reached  the  fort  well 
before  noon ;  there  they  found  Shaw,  Chatillon, 
and  Deslauriers  the  muleteer,  and  had  a  banquet 
on  biscuit,  coffee,  and  salt  pork,  which  they  ate 
and  drank  with  all  the  ostentation  of  plates, 
knives,  forks,  and  cups,  sitting  on  stools  before 
a  wooden  structure  politely  called  a  table.  Shaw 


LIFE  IN   AN  INDIAN   VILLAGE         191 

then  produced  his  library, —  Shakespeare,  Byron, 
and  the  Old  Testament. 

I  chose  the  worst  of  the  three,  and  for  the 
greater  part  of  that  day  I  lay  on  the  buffalo 
robes,  fairly  reveling  in  the  creations  of  that 
resplendent  genius  which  has  achieved  no  more 
signal  triumph  than  that  of  half  beguiling  us  to 
forget  the  unmanly  character  of  its  possessor. 

The  young  men  bade  good-by  to  their  compan 
ions,  especially  to  Chatillon,  with  much  regret, 
left  the  fort,  and  turned  their  faces  eastward. 
They  had  made  great  friends  with  Chatillon, 
and  thereafter  friendly  letters  and  gifts  passed 
between  them.  Once  they  made  the  mistake 
of  offering  payment  for  rich  gifts  from  him, 
and  hurt  his  feelings.  Chatillon  prospered  in  a 
worldly  sense,  and  years  afterwards  Parkman 
saw  him  at  St.  Louis,  an  owner  of  houses,  dressed 
in  the  discomforts  of  white  shirt,  urban  coat, 
and  trousers. 

The  returning  journey  was  made  without  much 
ill  luck.  From  Westport  they  went  by  boat  to  St. 
Louis,  which  they  reached  in  the  beginning  of 
October,  and  the  young  men  made  haste  to  give 
their  friends  news  of  themselves. 

ST.  Louis,  Oct.  7th,  '46. 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER,  —  ...  Everybody  here 
speaks  of  the  intense  heat  of  the  past  summer. 
We,  Q.  and  I,  may  congratulate  ourselves  on  hav- 


192  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

ing  escaped  it,  besides  gaining  a  great  deal  of 
sport,  and  a  cartload  of  practical  experience.  I 
feel  about  ten  years  older  than  I  did  five  months 
ago.  To-day,  for  the  first  time,  I  have  mounted 
the  white  shirt,  tight  dress  coat,  etc.  .  .  .  My 
temperament  is  bilious,  and  a  meat  diet,  I  sup 
pose,  acts  unfavorably  on  it ;  and  hence  the 
particularly  uncomfortable  state  to  which  I  was 
reduced  when  in  the  Indian  country ;  but  in 
spite  of  this,  they  tell  me  here  that  I  look  better 
than  when  I  set  out  for  the  mountains. 

...  I  shall  go  by  stage,  as  the  rivers  are  low, 
to  Chicago,  thence  by  railroad  to  Detroit,  and 
thence  to  Buffalo.  Ask  Carrie  to  write,  as  I  want 
very  much  to  hear  from  her.  You  will  hear  from 
me  often,  and  meanwhile  believe  me,  dear  mother, 
respectfully,  your  affectionate  FRANK. 

On  his  return  he  felt  that  he  had  qualified 
himself  by  practical  experience  to  write  the  his 
tory  of  the  Indian  and  French  wars,  and  grate 
ful  that  so  loose  a  rein  had  been  given  to  his 
inclination,  he  was  ready  to  do  his  duty  towards 
his  father  and  the  law. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
UNDER  DK.  ELLIOTT'S  CAKE 

FKANK  had  come  back  with  a  great  store  of  in 
formation  and  experience  ;  he  had  garnered  the 
grain  and  was  ready  to  begin  to  grind.  But  vio 
lent  exertion,  exposure,  bad  food,  wet  clothes, 
and  all  evil  attendants  of  physical  hardship, 
began  to  exact  their  scot,  and  the  chief  burden 
of  their  exaction  fell  on  his  weakest  member, 
his  eyes.  No  sooner  had  he  got  home  than  he 
was  obliged  to  be  off  again  to  New  York  to  put 
himself  under  the  care  of  Dr.  Elliott,  a  famous 
oculist,  whose  skill  had  already  wrought  a  cure 
for  his  sister  Caroline,  who  had  suffered  with 
her  eyes.  From  this  time  his  physical  life  as 
sumes  the  grim  and  strained  attitude  of  one 
long  wrestle  with  ill  health.  At  first  there  was 
hope  that  two  months  would  suffice  to  make  the 
weak  eyes  strong  and  undo  the  hurt  that  the 
Oregon  journey  had  done ;  but  though  his  eyes 
sometimes  got  better  and  sometimes  got  worse, 
the  two  months  lengthened  out,  and  at  the  end 
of  the  second  year  his  eyes  were  worse,  much 


194  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

worse.  In  this  wrestling-match  with  fate  there 
were  recesses,  pauses,  breathing  spaces,  but  from 
this  fatal  year  his  body  was  but  a  ragged  fort 
in  which  the  spirit  was  incessantly  beleaguered. 
In  his  brief  autobiographical  letters  he  has  told 
the  story  in  a  soldier's  way;  it  reads  like  the 
journal  of  a  fighting  regiment.  Those  pages  tell 
of  hardships ;  these  are  intended  to  chronicle 
the  happier  intervals  between  bouts  of  pain,  to 
record  recollections  and  the  careless  gossip  of 
letters  which  show  the  tender  love  of  his  family, 
the  proud  affection  of  his  friends,  and  to  relate 
the  gradual  progress  of  his  work. 

CAROLINE   TO    FRANK. 

BOSTON,  Dec.  17th,  1846. 

It  is  a  great  while  since  I  have  written  to  you, 
for  I  do  not  get  time  to  do  half  what  I  want  to. 
.  .  .  The  historical  lectures  take  a  great  deal  of 
time,  and  if  I  read  half  of  the  books  he  [the 
teacher]  recommends  I  should  be  able  to  do  no 
thing  else.  They  are  very  interesting  and  edify 
ing.  How  glad  I  am  that  your  eyes  are  improv 
ing  so  much  and  what  a  comfort  to  be  able  to 
read  so  long.  Don't  you  occasionally  turn  your 
thoughts  homeward  and  remember  that  the  two 
months  are  almost  gone  ?  I  fear  that  when  they 
are  gone,  the  Dr.  will  think  that  it  would  be  bet 
ter  to  stay  a  little  longer.  I  wish  you  were  at 
home  to  go  with  me  to  Aunt  Shaw's  party  next 
Tuesday.  ...  I  must  say  the  party  has  no  great 


UNDER  DR.  ELLIOTT'S  CARE  195 

attractions  for  me  ...  if  you  were  here  I  should 
like  it  much  better.  ...  I  hope  I  shall  have  a 
letter  from  you  soon,  but  don't  write  unless  you 
can  without  the  least  difficulty.  Mother  and  all 
send  their  love.  .  .  .  Good-by,  my  dear  brother. 

Jan.  11,  1847. 

Let  me  in  the  first  place  wish  you  a  happy 
New  Year,  though  ten  days  of  it  has  gone,  but 
there  is  enough  left  beside.  We  had  a  most  re 
markable  day  here  as  to  weather :  it  was  oppres 
sively  warm  with  winter  clothes.  .  .  .  Did  you 
make  many  calls?  There  were  some  families 
here  who  received  their  friends,  but  I  should 
not  care  about  its  becoming  a  general  custom ; 
there  seems  no  satisfaction  in  such  visits,  and  it 
must  be  a  real  hard  day's  work  for  gentlemen. 
.  .  .  We  heard  from  Aunt  Mary  yesterday.  She 
is  at  Providence  now,  as  I  suppose  you  know, 
but  is  not  much  better  than  she  has  been  since 
the  summer.  .  .  .  She  writes  in  pretty  good 
spirits  though,  and  wants  to  know  particularly 
about  you,  and  sends  her  love.  We  are  going 
this  evening  to  see  the  "  Viennoises  Danseuses  " 
(I  am  quite  willing  to  write  it,  but  would  n't 
think  of  pronouncing  it).  Father  saw  them  in 
Dublin,  and  was  so  delighted  with  them  that  he 
is  willing  to  be  seen  at  the  theatre  in  such  a 
cause,  custom  notwithstanding.  I  think  it  will 
be  quite  an  inducement  in  itself  to  go,  just  for 
the  sake  of  seeing  him  sitting  in  one  of  the 
boxes ! 


196  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Tuesday,  Feb.  23d,  1847. 

...  I  believe  that  father  told  you  in  his  last 
letter  that  Dr.  Elliott  gave  "encouraging  ac 
counts  "  of  you  when  he  was  here ;  but  he  mis 
understood  me,  for  I  was  the  only  one  of  the 
family  that  the  Dr.  saw,  and  all  that  he  said 
was  that  yours  was  a  difficult  case,  that  he  had 
no  doubt  of  his  curing  you  finally,  but  that  after 
you  had  been  with  him  a  few  weeks  he  found  there 
were  peculiarities  of  the  system  that  at  first  he 
could  not  discover.  He  said  that  your  nervous 
system  was  a  good  deal  deranged,  which  made  it 
difficult  to  affect  you  by  medicine,  or  something 
to  that  purpose  ;  if  I  have  not  represented  it  as 
it  was  told,  do  not  think  he  made  out  a  better 
statement  just  to  please  us,  for  all  he  said  to 
encourage  was  that  it  was  a  curable  case,  and 
that  he  should  do  all  he  could  to  enable  you  to 
come  home  as  soon  as  possible,  as  father  de 
sired.  '.  .  .  Last  week  I  had  a  miniature  party, 
and  wish  you  had  been  here,  for  it  was  very 
pleasant.  .  .  .  They  came  to  tea,  and  it  was  a 
very  sociable  little  soiree.  We  had  music  of  the 
first  order,  for  they  are  a  very  musical  set,  and 
Matilda  Abbot  sings  remarkably  well.  .  .  . 

Now  Frank,  my  dear,  I  have  heard  that  you 
have  written  some  account  of  your  journey  in  the 
"  Knickerbocker,"  and  how  brotherly  it  would 
be  if  you  would  send  us  the  number  which  con 
tains  it,  for  I  suppose  you  have  it,  or  at  least 
you  might  have  told  us  that  it  was  to  be  seen 
there,  for  you  know  how  much  interested  I 
should  be  in  everything  you  write,  and  all  that 
you  do.  Only  think  how  long  it  is  since  you 


UNDER  DR.  ELLIOTT'S  CARE  197 

have  lived  at  home,  almost  a  year.  Sometimes 
I  feel  that  you  know  so  much  more,  and  that  we 
are  so  different  in  mind  and  in  our  feelings  about 
some  things  that  we  might  not  be  so  near  to 
each  other  as  is  my  sincerest  wish  ;  but  this  feel 
ing,  perhaps,  is  quite  unnecessary,  and  I  hope 
that  our  love  will  be  just  as  strong  as  if  I 
did  not  feel  there  was  any  difference.  I  never 
could  have  told  you  this,  it  is  so  much  easier  to 
write  one's  secret  feelings  than  to  speak  them, 
but  I  am  glad  to  let  you  know  them.  .  .  .  Write 
to  us  soon,  and  I  hope  you  will  have  better  ac 
counts  to  give.  Mother  sends  her  love,  and  with 
much  love  from  your  sister  CAKRIE. 

Tuesday,  March  2d,  1847. 

Your  letter  reached  us  yesterday,  and  I  can 
not  tell  you  how  badly  we  feel  on  account  of 
your  health.  It  is  a  hard  trial,  I  am  sure,  not  to 
be  able  at  least  to  use  your  mind  while  you  are 
shut  out  from  reading.  I  do  hope  that  this  state 
will  not  continue  long.  ...  I  hope  that  next 
summer  you  will  feel  inclined  to  loafe  round  at 
Phillips  beach  with  us.  For  we  have  the  pros 
pect  of  the  same  pleasant  family  that  we  had 
last  year,  and  you  would  be  able  to  have  quite  a 
variety  in  your  occupations  too,  .  .  .  and  there 
are  beautiful  rides  and  walks  all  around  there, 
and  perhaps  we  might  renew  our  horseback  ex 
peditions,  which  are  very  popular  there,  espe 
cially  the  ride  to  Nahant  over  the  beach,  and 
when  you  get  there  you  would  find  many  of 
your  friends,  Mary  Eliot  among  others.  Is  n't 
that  a  pleasant  prospect  ?  It  would  be  so  plea- 


198  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

sant  to  have  you  there  with  us,  you  don't  know 
how  we  used  to  long  for  you  last  summer.  .  .  . 
I  go  to  history  in  a  few  minutes,  so  I  am  in  a 
hurry.  .  .  .  Mother  and  all  the  rest  send  their 
love  and  wish  you  were  with  us  that  we  might 
do  something  for  you.  I  hope  it  will  not  be  long 
before  we  can  see  you.  Maria  Eldredge  is  going 
to  N.  Y.  in  a  few  weeks  to  stay.  I  should  like  to 
go  with  her  to  stay  with  you.  Suppose  I  should 
not  be  admitted  to  Delmonico's,  though.  .  .  . 

Friday,  March  19th,  1847. 

We  were  very  glad  to  hear  from  you  yester 
day,  and  I  hope  you  will  feel  the  good  effects  of 
the  new  system,  but  if  it  is  much  more  severe 
than  that  which  the  Dr.  generally  uses,  I  should 
think  you  would  be  in  torture.  ...  1  cannot 
tell  you  how  delighted  Elly  [his  brother  John 
Eliot]  was  with  the  book  you  sent  him,  and  you 
could  not  have  chosen  a  better  time  to  send  it. 
.  .  .  He  is  quite  overcome  by  your  thinking  of 
him  and  is  going  to  write  you  a  letter  next  week. 
Father  sends  his  love.  Mother  and  the  girls  send 
love  also.  .  .  . 

BOSTON,  May  14th,  [1847]. 

.  .  .  We  were  very  glad  to  receive  a  letter 
from  you  this  morning,  and  hope  you  will  feel 
that  your  eyes  are  continuing  to  improve  with 
out  any  more  drawbacks.  .  .  .  Mary  gets  on 
very  well  with  the  copying;  it  is  about  finished 
now.  ...  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  read  this 
yourself,  and  out  of  compassion  for  your  eyes  I 
will  not  inflict  more,  but  believe  me,  dear  Frank, 
that  nothing  would  make  me  happier  than  to 


UNDER  DR.  ELLIOTT'S  CARE  199 

feel  that  I  could  do  something  to  make  your  un 
occupied  time  pass  pleasantly.  ...  I  hope  we 
shall  hear  very  soon.  With  much  love, 

CARRIE. 

In  the  course  of  nature  a  father,  as  the  purse- 
holder,  has  relations  and  correspondence  with  a 
son  which  differ  a  little  in  tenor  from  those 
which  mother  and  sister  have,  and  as  the  Park- 
man  family  did  not  differ  in  any  marked  partic 
ular  from  other  families,  we  find  traces  of  that 
eternal  dialogue  between  the  purse-holder  and 
the  purse-emptier,  which  commonly  fills  so  much 
larger  a  part  in  the  correspondence  between 
father  and  son. 

BOSTON,  March  2,  [1847]. 

MY  DEAR  SON,  —  We  have  read  your  letter 
to  Carrie  with  no  little  regret  and  disappoint 
ment.  I  am  pained  by  what  you  write  of  your 
general  state  of  health  as  well  as  of  your  eyes. 
And  I  hardly  know  what  course  it  will  be  best 
for  you  to  pursue.  .  .  . 

You  write  in  a  short  postscript  that  you  are 
in  want  of  money.  I  am  most  happy,  as  you 
well  know,  to  supply  it.  But  I  confess,  my  dear 
son,  that  I  am  somewhat  surprised  by  the  fre 
quency  of  your  calls.  Since  I  was  in  New  York, 
when  I  gave  you  fifty  dollars  in  addition  to 
twenty  or  thirty  you  then  had,  I  sent  you  sev 
enty  dollars,  in  anticipation,  as  I  thought,  of 
your  needs  for  the  present.  I  take  it  for  granted 
that  it  was  ample  for  the  bills  at  Delmonico'sj 


200  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

etc.,  for  the  month  just  ended,  and  that  those  bills 
are  paid.  I  request  that  instead  of  a  short  post 
script  thro'  Caroline  [mark  the  full  complement 
of  syllables]  you  would  let  me  know  more  par 
ticularly  of  the  amount  of  your  expenses,  and 
what  is  necessary  for  a  month.  All  that  is 
proper  for  your  comfort  and  gratification  shall 
always  and  most  readily  be  supplied.  But  for  the 
four  months  you  have  been  in  New  York  you 
have  received  $400,  or  at  the  rate  of  $1200  a 
year.  ...  I  wish  you  would  write  to  me  partic 
ularly  if  your  eyes  permit.  Your  mother  sends 
her  love,  and  we  earnestly  hope,  my  dear  son, 
that  you  will  find  yourself  better  soon. 
I  am  your  affectionate  father, 

FRANCIS  PARKMAN. 

Then  those  honest  friends,  —  great  peace 
makers,  that  knit  up  the  raveled  sleave  of  a 
father's  care,  —  exact  accounts,  served  their  good 
offices. 

Item   .         .    '     .  Bootblack     .  .     .10 

"           ..  Ale  ...  .12 

"      .         .         .  Breakfast     .  .     .37 

Umbrella           .  .75 

"...  Chocolate,  etc.  .     .18 

"           ..  Ale  ...  .12 

"...  Breakfast     .  .     .25 

"            .         .  Dinner      .         .  .75 

"...  Tea      .         .  .     .25 

"            .         .  Waiter     .         .  .25 

"...  Carriage       .  .     .50 

"            .         .  Books      .        •  1.50,  etc. 


In  the  next  letter  their  service  is  recognized. 


UNDER  DR.  ELLIOTT'S  CARE  201 

Monday,  March  8, 1847. 

MY  DEAR  SON,  —  Your  statement  of  your 
expenses  at  Delmonico's  is  altogether  satisfac 
tory.  .  .  . 

I  am  at  present  at  a  loss  what  to  advise  as  to 
your  remaining  from  home.  It  seems  to  me  very 
desirable  that  you  should  have  more  of  domestic 
comfort  than  you  can  possibly  have  as  you  are. 
.  .  .  Think  over  the  matter  in  your  own  mind, 
and  at  your  leisure  give  me  your  ideas.  We  are 
all  well.  Your  affectionate  father, 

F.  PARKMAN. 

Frank,  however,  was  obliged  to  stay  away  all 
the  spring  and  all  the  summer  too. 

In  the  mean  time  "  The  Oregon  Trail "  had 
begun  its  slow  publication  in  the  "Knicker 
bocker  Magazine."  Frank  had  kept  a  full  note 
book  of  his  expedition  and  adventures,  and  soon 
after  his  return,  from  these  notes  and  from  his 
admirable  memory,  had  dictated  the  book  to 
his  friend  and  comrade,  Shaw.  The  first  chap 
ters  appeared  in  February.  Frank,  in  his  mod 
est,  reserved,  self-sufficient  way,  deigned  to  tell 
neither  his  family  nor  his  friends.  His  sister 
found  it  out  by  chance,  so  did  his  friends.  It  was 
put  out  into  the  world  to  stand  on  its  own  feet, 
and  like  a  waif  win  what  success  it  might  in  the 
estimation  of  the  impartial,  cold-hearted  sub 
scribers  to  the  "  Knickerbocker."  If  it  deserved 
success,  Frank  wished  it  to  succeed ;  if  not,  why 


202  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

let  it  go  and  keep  company  with  mediocrity  and 
failure,  as  it  deserved. 

The  book  was  not  as  successful,  not  as  pop 
ular  with  the  public,  as  might  well  have  been 
expected  even  by  a  young  man  much  less  cool 
and  self-contained  than  Frank.  It  was  more  than 
twenty  years  since  the  "  Last  of  the  Mohicans  " 
had  been  published,  and  it  was  reasonable  to 
anticipate  an  eager  reception  for  a  fresh  tale 
of  the  wild  life  of  the  West.  The  editor  of  the 
"  Knickerbocker,"  however,  justly  appreciated 
its  worth ;  so  did  others. 

DOBB,  HIS  CROSSING, 
Woden,  his  day,  Aug.  30,  ['47]. 

MY  DEAR  PARKMAN,  —  Your  next  "  Trail  " 
has  the  place  of  honor  in  the  "  Knickerbocker,"  — 
that  is,  the  one  for  October.  They  are  excellent 
papers.  Washington  Irving  told  me  to-day  that 
he  read  them  with  great  pleasure  —  as  I  always 
do.  I  hope  you  find  them  as  correctly  printed 
as  you  could  expect,  under  the  circumstances.  I 
read  them  carefully ;  but  the  manuscript  is  some 
times  very  obscured.  How  are  your  eyes?  I  long 
much  to  hear  that  they  are  getting  well.  .  .  . 

Will  you  let  me  say  how  much  I  am,  and  truly, 
yours,  L.  GAYLORD  CLARK. 

REV.    F.    PARKMAN   TO   SAME. 

Monday  Morning1,  Aug.  7th,  ['47]. 

MY  DEAR  SON,  — ...  Though  I  wrote  to  you 
something  of  a  long  letter  on  Friday,  yet  I  can 
not  help  "  taking  pen  in  hand,"  just  to  tell  you 


UNDER  DR.  ELLIOTT'S  CARE  203 

of  a  little  incident  which,  as  it  gave  pleasure  to 
your  mother  and  me,  will  not,  I  think,  be  other 
wise  than  agreeable  to  you. 

Last  week  Elly  came  into  town,  and  having 
a  half  day's  leisure,  strolled  over  to  the  Navy 
Yard  at  Charlestown.  As  he  was  looking  round, 
as  boys  love  to  look,  an  officer  met  him  and 
asked  him  his  name;  and  finding  it  Parkman, 
he  asked  him,  further,  if  he  was  any  relation  to 
the  gentleman  who  wrote  articles  in  the  "  Knick 
erbocker."  Elly  told  him  that  he  was  his  brother, 
which,  as  you  know,  was  no  more  than  true. 
The  officer  then  said,  "  Come  with  me,  and  I 
will  show  you  all  there  is  to  see ;  for  I  am  glad 
to  know  a  brother  of  the  writer  of  those  pieces. 
He  writes  well,  and  I  read  4  The  Oregon  Trail ' 
with  great  pleasure."  He  then  took  Elly  all  over 
the  yard,  and  when  he  had  shown  him  fully  all 
there  was  to  be  seen  he  invited  him  into  his  own 
room,  and  among  many  other  things  showed  him 
the  numbers  of  the  "Knickerbocker"  which  he 
said  had  given  him  so  much  pleasure. 

I  confess,  my  dear  Frank,  I  was  much  grati 
fied  by  this ;  but  I  should  not  be  studious  to 
write  it  out  at  length,  did  I  not  feel  that  under 
your  trials  and  inability  to  do  as  much  as  you 
desire,  you  are  entitled  to  know  that  what  you 
have  done,  and  still  can  do,  is  fully  appreciated. 
It  is  a  consolation,  when  some  of  our  plans  are 
interrupted,  to  know  that  others  have  so  well 
succeeded.  And  I  congratulate  you  on  having 
accomplished  so  much  and  so  successfully  amidst 
great  discouragements.  .  .  .  Mother  sends  her 
love  ;  and  I  am  your  affectionate  father, 

F.  PAKKMAN. 


204  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

SAME   TO   SAME. 

BOSTON,  Friday,  Sept.  3,  [1847]. 

MY  DEAR  SON,  —  ...  I  have  received  for 
you  a  diploma  as  Honorary  Member  of  the  New 
York  Historical  Society.  I  hear  frequently  of 
your  "  Oregon  Trail,"  and  of  the  success  of  your 
lucubrations.  .  .  . 

With  sincere  affection,  I  am  yours, 

F.  PARKMAN. 

By  this  time,  finding  that  his  eyes  had  not 
improved,  Frank  had  gone  to  Brattleboro,  Ver 
mont,  to  try  the  water-cure,  somewhat  fash 
ionable  in  those  days.  But  the  success  of  this 
experiment,  though  he  repeated  it  several  times, 
was  slight,  and  he  went  back  again  to  Dr.  El 
liott's  care. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ILL  HEALTH,  1848-1850 

BEFOEE  the  "  Oregon  Trail  "  had  run  its  slow 
course  in  the  "  Knickerbocker  Magazine,"  Park- 
man  had  been  busying  himself  in  putting  into 
narrative  the  varied  mass  of  information  which 
he  had  been  gathering  during  the  previous  six 
or  seven  years.  It  was  not  easy  to  make  one 
straight-away  story  of  it,  there  was  such  lack  of 
unity  in  the  subject.  Pontiac  was  but  the  most 
conspicuous  chief  in  a  long  line  of  border  war  that 
encircled  the  English  settlements  from  Maine  to 
Carolina.  There  was  need  of  art,  of  grouping 
and  arrangement,  of  dragging  certain  events  and 
actors  into  the  foreground,  of  pushing  others 
back,  of  exalting  here  and  abasing  there;  in 
short,  of  the  infinite  pains  that  only  can  over 
come  an  unwieldly  narrative.  Parkman  himself 
says  in  the  preface  that  lack  of  eyesight,  which 
forced  him  to  long  periods  of  darkness  and  medi 
tation,  during  which  he  thought  out  the  sequence 
of  his  story,  was  really  of  service  to  him.  It  is  a 
generous  instance  of  giving  the  devil  his  due.  I 


206  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

quote  his  autobiography l  for  an  account  of  this 
period  of  composition. 

In  the  spring  of  1848,  the  condition  indicated 
being  then  at  its  worst,  the  writer  resolved  to 
attempt  the  composition  of  the  history  of  the 
conspiracy  of  Pontiac,  of  which  the  material  had 
been  for  some  time  collected  and  the  ground  pre 
pared.  The  difficulty  was  so  near  to  the  impossi 
ble  that  the  line  of  distinction  often  disappeared, 
while  medical  prescience  condemned  the  plan  as 
a  short  road  to  dire  calamities.  His  motive,  how 
ever,  was  in  part  a  sanitary  one,  growing  out  of 
a  conviction  that  nothing  could  be  more  deadly 
to  his  bodily  and  mental  health  than  the  entire 
absence  of  a  purpose  and  an  object.  The  diffi 
culties  were  threefold :  an  extreme  weakness  of 
sight,  disabling  him  even  from  writing  his  name, 
except  with  eyes  closed  ;  a  condition  of  the  brain 
prohibiting  fixed  attention,  except  at  occasional 
brief  intervals ;  and  an  exhaustion  and  total  de 
rangement  of  the  nervous  system,  producing  of 
necessity  a  mood  of  mind  most  unfavorable  to 
effort.  To  be  made  with  impunity,  the  attempt 
must  be  made  with  the  most  watchful  caution. 

He  caused  a  wooden  frame  to  be  constructed 
of  the  size  and  shape  of  a  sheet  of  letter  paper. 
Stout  wires  were  fixed  horizontally  across  it,  half 
an  inch  apart,  and  a  movable  back  of  thick  paste 
board  fitted  behind  them.  The  paper  for  writing 
was  placed  between  the  pasteboard  and  the  wires, 
guided  by  which,  and  using  a  black  lead  crayon, 
he  could  write  not  illegibly  with  closed  eyes.  He 

1  Life  ofParkman,  pp.  325-327. 


ILL  HEALTH,  1848-1850  207 

was  at  the  time  absent  from  home,  on  Staten 
Island,  where,  and  in  the  neighboring  city  of 
New  York,  he  had  friends  who  willingly  offered 
their  aid.  It  is  needless  to  say  to  which  half  of 
humanity  nearly  all  these  kind  assistants  be 
longed.  He  chose  for  a  beginning  that  part  of 
the  work  which  offered  fewest  difficulties,  and 
with  the  subject  of  which  he  was  most  familiar, 
namely,  the  Siege  of  Detroit.  The  books  and 
documents,  already  partially  arranged,  were  pro 
cured  from  Boston,  and  read  to  him  at  such  times 
as  he  could  listen  to  them ;  the  length  of  each 
reading  never,  without  injury,  much  exceeding 
half  an  hour,  and  periods  of  several  days  fre 
quently  occurring  during  which  he  could  not  lis 
ten  at  all.  Notes  were  made  by  him  with  closed 
eyes,  and  afterwards  deciphered  and  read  to  him 
till  he  had  mastered  them.  For  the  first  half 
year  the  rate  of  composition  averaged  about  six 
lines  a  day.  The  portion  of  the  book  thus  com 
posed  was  afterwards  partially  rewritten.  His 
health  improved  under  the  process,  and  the  re 
mainder  of  the  volume  —  in  other  words,  nearly 
the  whole  of  it  —  was  composed  in  Boston,  while 
pacing  in  the  twilight  of  a  large  garret  [5  Bow- 
doin  Square],  the  only  exercise  which  the  sen 
sitive  condition  of  his  sight  permitted  him  in 
an  unclouded  day  while  the  sun  was  above  the 
horizon.  It  was  afterwards  written  down  from 
dictation  by  relatives  under  the  same  roof,  to 
whom  he  was  also  indebted  for  the  preparatory 
readings.  His  progress  was  much  less  tedious 
than  at  the  outset,  and  the  history  was  complete 
in  about  two  years  and  a  half. 


206  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

This  story  was  given  to  the  world  after  his 
death  ;  in  life  Parkman  concealed  his  disabilities 
from  his  acquaintances  under  a  cool  reserve. 
Once  a  friend,  coming  from  a  distance,  entered 
the  room  where  Parkman  sat  in  the  dark  with 
curtains  drawn  and  eyes  bandaged ;  surprised  by 
sympathy,  he  betrayed  his  pity.  The  tone  of 
Parkman's  voice  made  him  think  for  an  instant 
that  his  own  eyes  had  deceived  him,  and  that  he 
was  in  the  presence  of  a  perfectly  well,  untroubled 
man.  Nevertheless,  Parkman's  intimates  knew 
what  odds  he  struggled  with,  and  having  in  their 
minds  the  young  man  who  had  spent  his  time 
crying  "  words  of  manage  to  his  bounding  steed," 
leaping  on  and  off  while  at  full  gallop,  —  one  of 
them  has  said  that  on  horseback,  with  his  face 
grim  and  resolute,  he  looked  like  Colleoni, — 
they  could  not  wholly  forbear  to  express  their 
sympathy. 

Mr.  Edmund  D  wight  was  a  classmate  and 
dear  friend. 

EDMUND   DWIGHT   TO   PARKMAN. 

BOSTON,  April  23d,  '48. 

MY  DEAR  FRANK, —  I  received  your  most  wel 
come  note  three  days  ago.  Thank  you  for  it. 
.  .  .  Your  account  of  yourself  is  perhaps  as 
good  as  could  have  been  expected.  I  wish  that 
it  had  been  a  great  deal  better,  but  still  it  is 
enough  for  us  to  build  our  hopes  upon  that  all 


ILL  HEALTH,  1848-1850  209 

will  yet  be  well.  I  believe  I  have  told  you  how 
certain  I  consider  your  final  success  to  be  if  your 
health  is  spared.  So  keep  up  your  spirits,  dear 
Frank.  No  one  ever  did  so  more  thoroughly  and 
bravely  than  you  have  done.  Your  reward  is  as 
certain  as  any  future  event  can  be.  .  .  . 

Pray  let  nie  hear  from  you  soon,  and  believe 
me,  dear  Frank,  faithfully  and  warmly,  your 
friend. 

BOSTON,  April  30th,  1848. 

I  saw  Quincy  Shaw  last  night,  who  told  me  he 
heard  indirectly  that  you  were  getting  on  pretty 
well,  which  is  very  good  news  so  far  as  it  goes. 
Charlie  Norton  will  bring  more  minute  intelli 
gence,  and  I  hope  soon  to  get  a  word  having 
your  own  authority  for  it.  ... 

I  have  read  "  The  Oregon  Trail "  for  April  and 
admire  it  exceedingly,  though  I  think  they  would 
be  still  more  interesting  if  read  without  a  month's 
intermission  between  the  chapters.  ...  If  you 
have  not  already  made  up  your  mind  to  collect 
and  publish  what  has  been  portioned  out  to  us, 
I  hope  you  will  for  your  friends'  sake  as  well  as 
your  own.  I  will  not  give  you  the  opinions  which 
I  hear  expressed  unless  you  prove  intractable ; 
if  you  do  I  have  that  which  will  bring  you 
round.  .  .  . 

BOSTON,  May  18, 1848. 

I  was  heartily  glad  to  receive  a  line  from  you 
on  Sunday,  giving  so  encouraging  account  of 
your  condition  and  prospects.  You  know  that  if 
my  good  wishes  could  do  you  any  good,  you 
would  have  had  the  full  benefit  of  them  long 
ago.  .  .  . 


210  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

BOSTON,  June  10,  1848. 

I  received  your  letter  of  the  9th  upon  my  re 
turn  from  Springfield  to-day.  No  words  can  tell 
you,  dear  Frank,  how  deep  my  sympathy  is  for 
you  in  all  your  terrible  sufferings,  nor  how  ar 
dent  my  admiration  for  the  noble  fortitude  with 
which  you  bear  them.  Nor  is  my  faith  that  in 
this  world  you  will  find  at  last  that  happiness 
which  you  are  so  faithfully  earning  less  deep 
than  my  sympathy  and  sorrow  for  your  misfor 
tunes.  The  postscript,  of  your  letter  adds  a 
f  round  of  belief  and  opens  a  prospect  of  success, 
t  cannot,  it  will  not  be  that  you  shall  be  disap 
pointed  and  foiled  at  last.  No,  dear  Frank,  it 
will  all  be  well  with  you  before  long,  and  your 
reward  will  be  as  great  as  the  difficulties  you 
have  overcome.  The  darkest  cloud  has  a  silver 
lining,  and  that  will  soon  be  turned  toward  you, 
and  all  these  storm  clouds  pass  away.  I  know 
how  truly  religious  you  are  amidst  all  this  dread 
ful  trial.  Only  recollect  that  "  hope  "  is  ranked 
next  to  "  faith "  among  the  Christian  virtues. 
Heaven  bless  the  Doctor  who  gives  you  such 
good  grounds  for  belief  in  the  place  of  hope,  and 
with  one  skillful  Dr.  for  your  eyes  and  another 
for  your  nerves  all  will  be  well  before  long.  .  .  . 
Farewell,  my  dear  friend.  Heaven  be  with  you 
and  send  you  bright  days  quickly. 

July  19,  1848. 

I  was  very  glad  indeed  to  receive  your  let 
ter  two  days  ago  confirming  the  impression  I 
had  received  when  with  you  that  you  were  grow 
ing  better.  The  progress  may  be,  or  rather,  I 
suppose,  must  be,  slow,  and  changes  for  the 


ILL  HEALTH,  1848-1850  211 

worse  will  occur ;  still,  so  long  as  the  direction  is 
the  right  one,  there  is  a  certainty  of  coming  out 
right  at  last.  .  .  . 

July  22d. 

The  returned  volunteers  parade  the  streets  to 
day,  and  the  city  is  full  of  gaping  countrymen 
to  see  the  warriors.  Do  you  still  hold  to  your 
old  notions  about  the  glory  of  a  soldier  and  the 
high  qualities  that  are  required  to  make  a  man 
fight  well?  Because  if  you  do  I  should  like  to 
argue  the  point  with  you.  A  good  officer  is  a 
noble  fellow,  and  so  is  any  other  good  man  in 
active  business.  I  'm  getting  a  contempt  for 
men  who  only  preach  and  theorize.  If  a  man 
does  keep  straight  through  the  bad  influences  of 
such  a  life  it  says  a  vast  deal  for  him.  Good-by. 
Keep  up  your  spirits,  and  believe  me,  dear  Frank, 
yours  sincerely, 

EDMUND  DWTGHT,  JR. 

In  some  of  the  letters  there  are  references  to 
politics  which  seem  to  imply  that  Dwight  and 
Parkman  shared  the  views  prevailing  in  well-to- 
do  Boston,  —  dislike  of  the  ad  valorem  clauses 
in  the  tariff,  indignation  with  the  South,  disap 
proval  of  the  Mexican  war.  But  Parkinan's 
world  had  shrunk  to  the  four  walls  of  a  dark 
ened  room,  and  his  thoughts  were  too  closely 
concentred  on  his  work  to  wander  far  afield. 

He  valued  his  friends,  and  always  kept  the 
letters  that  bore  witness  to  the  affection  they 
felt  for  him. 


212  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

C.   E.    NORTON   TO   PARKMAN. 

Sunday,  June  18,  1848. 

MY  DEAR  FRANK,  —  I  have  long  meant  to 
write  to  you,  and  should  have  done  so  before 
now  had  I  supposed  my  letter  would  have  given 
you  pleasure.  But  as  Ned  Dwight  told  me  last 
week  that  you  spoke  in  your  last  letter  to  him 
of  not  being  so  well,  except  as  regards  your 
eyes,  I  determined  to  write  to  you,  if  for  no 
other  reason  than  to  assure  you  of  my  continued 
and  sincere  sympathy  with  you.  You  have,  my 
dear  friend,  one  great  source  of  support  and 
comfort  in  your  sufferings,  the  consciousness 
that  they  have  not  been  sent  to  you  as  the  retri 
bution  for  your  past  life,  but  that  they  have 
come  in  accordance  with  the  inscrutable  design 
of  God,  and  will  finally  work  out  their  own  re 
sult  by  bringing  you  nearer  to  him.  Let  me 
quote  from  Miss  Barrett  two  or  three  lines :  — 

"  With  earnest  prayers 
Fasten  your  soul  so  high  that  constantly 
The  smile  of  your  heroic  cheer  may  float 
Above  all  floods  of  earthly  agonies." 

All  this  is,  I  know,  very  familiar  to  you,  and  for 
the  last  year  or  two  you  have  given  proof  to 
every  one  who  has  known  you  that  you  carry 
your  principles,  which  so  few  of  us  do,  into  daily 
action  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  suffering  you  may 
have  the  encouragement  of  knowing  that  your 
example  is  one  which  we  shall  always  cherish  as 
inciting  us  to  manliness  and  patience  and  faith. 
.  .  .  Good-by.  Write  to  me  if  you  can.  With 
kindest  remembrances  from  the  whole  family. 


ILL  HEALTH,  1848-1850  213 

BOSTON,  Sept.  4th,  1848. 

I  have  just  got  and  looked  over  the  worthless 
number  of  the  "  Knickerbocker  "  for  this  month. 
Where  is  the  "  Oregon  Trail  "  ?  Have  you  quar 
reled  with  the  editor,  or  he  with 'you?  Or  was 
the  manuscript  lost  ?  Or  is  Clark,  knowing  that 
there  are  but  three  numbers  more,  keeping  it 
back  that  he  may  have  a  number  or  two  for  his 
new  volume,  so  as  to  retain  his  subscribers  who 
subscribe  for  the  sake  of  that  alone?  It  is  not 
good  policy  in  an  editor  of  a  magazine  to  have 
one  contributor  who  so  far  excels  the  rest.  Pray 
write  to  me  to  tell  me  about  the  missing  chapter 
and  about  yourself.  I  hope  you  still  keep  to  your 
intention  of  publishing  the  "  Trail "  in  a  volume 
this  autumn.  The  time  is  drawing  near  when  it 
should  be  out.  Do  begin  to  print,  and  either 
make  arrangements  with  some  New  York  pub 
lisher,  or  let  me  make  them  with  some  publisher 
here.  At  any  rate,  let  me  do  as  much  for  you  in 
looking  over  the  proofs,  or  in  any  other  way,  as  I 
can.  .  .  . 

NEW  YORK,  Febr'y  25th,  1849. 

It  seemed  almost  as  if  I  were  going  to  meet 
you,  when  yesterday  morning  I  went  down  to 
Putnam's  to  see  him  about  your  book.  ...  I 
found  Putnam,  and  learned  from  him  that  the 
"Oregon  and  California  Trail"  would  be  out  in 
about  ten  days  —  some  time  in  next  week.  He 
said  that  so  far  as  he  knew  there  had  not  been 
the  least  difficulty  in  making  out  the  corrections 
in  the  copy  you  had  sent  him,  that  he  had  re 
ceived  the  last  proof  that  morning,  that  the  en 
gravings  were  so  nearly  finished  that  he  thought 


214  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

he  could  give  me  copies  of  them  to  send  on  to 
you  to-morrow,  and  that  he  could  have  six  copies 
bound  and  sent  to  you  early.  I  selected  a  neat 
and  handsome  style  in  which  to  have  them  bound, 
and  told  Putnam's  clerk  to  be  careful  to  have 
the  matter  attended  to.  ... 

MILAN,  April  18th,  1850. 

I  have  owed  you  a  letter  for  a  long  time.  It 
has  not  been  from  any  want  of  frequent  remem 
brance  that  I  have  not  written  —  if  I  did  not 
know  that  you  would  believe  in  that,  I  should 
certainly  have  written  before.  Your  last  letter 
came  to  me  at  Alexandria.  I  was  very  glad  to 
receive  it,  as  it  contained  good  accounts  of  your 
self.  I  hope  that  you  could  have  written  in  the 
same  way  all  the  winter.  .  .  .  During  this  last 
January  I  was  traveling  from  Agra  to  Bombay, 
and  during  the  journey,  which  was  a  solitary  one, 
I  often  thought  over  and  with  constant  pleasure 
the  mornings  of  the  January  of  the  year  before 
spent  with  you.  I  trust  you  will  have  a  very  long 
manuscript  for  me  to  read  a  year  hence,  when  I 
am  once  more  at  home.  .  .  . 

Ever  your  very  faithful  friend, 

CHARLES  ELIOT  NORTON. 

E.  George  Squier,  another  friend,  was  an  anti 
quarian  interested  in  Central  America,  a  man  of 
scholarly  tastes  and  archa3ological  learning,  full 
of  energy  and  exuberant  vigor. 


ILL  HEALTH,  1848-1850  215 

PABKMAN  TO  SQUiER  [dictated]. 

BOSTON,  Oct.  15th,  1849. 

MY  DEAR  SQUIER,  — ...  As  for  me  I  am 
rather  inclined  to  envy  you  less  for  your  success 
and  your  prospects,  enviable  as  they  are,  than  for 
your  power  of  activity.  From  a  complete  and 
ample  experience  of  both,  I  can  bear  witness  that 
no  amount  of  physical  pain  is  so  intolerable  as 
the  position  of  being  stranded  and  doomed  to  lie 
rotting  for  year  after  year.  However,  I  have  not 
yet  abandoned  any  plan  which  I  have  ever  formed, 
and  I  have  no  intention  of  abandoning  any  until 
I  am  made  cold  meat  of.  At  present  I  am  much 
better  in  health  than  when  you  last  saw  me,  and 
do  not  suffer  from  that  constant  sense  of  oppres 
sion  on  the  brain  which  then  at  times  annoyed 
me  almost  beyond  endurance.  I  find  myself  able 
to  work  a  little,  although  my  eyes  are  in  a  to 
tally  useless  state  and  excessively  sensitive.  The 
eyes  are  nothing  to  the  other  infernal  thing, 
which  now  seems  inclined  to  let  me  alone,  good 
riddance  to  it ;  so  I  continue  to  dig  slowly  along 
by  the  aid  of  other  people's  eyes,  doing  the  work 
more  thoroughly,  no  doubt,  and  digesting  my  ma 
terials  better  than  if  I  used  my  own.  I  have  just 
obtained  the  papers  that  were  wanting  to  com 
plete  my  collection  for  the  illustrative  work  on 
the  Indians  which  I  told  you  about.  The  manu 
scripts  amount  to  several  thousand  pages.  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  the  labor  of  collecting  them 
might  have  been  better  bestowed,  but  I  was  a 
boy  when  I  began  it,  and  at  all  events  the  job 
will  be  done  thoroughly.  .  .  .  If  I  can  serve  you 


216  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

in  the  way  of  writing  or  otherwise,  I  wish  you 
would  let  me  know,  and  I  shall  be  very  glad  to 
do  anything  in  my  power.  By  some  practice  I 
have  caught  the  knack  of  dictating  and  find  it  as 
easy  as  lying. 

Believe  me,  with  much  regard,  very  truly 
yours, 

[F.  PARKMAN.] 

In  May,  1850,  he  married  Miss  Catherine 
Scollay  Bigelow,  a  daughter  of  Dr.  Jacob  Bige- 
low,  at  that  time  a  distinguished  physician  in 
Boston. 


CHAPTER  XX 

LIFE  AND   LITERATURE,  1850-1856 

PARKMAN'S  married  life  was  very  happy,  espe 
cially  in  these  first  years  before  the  devil  of 
lameness  clutched  him.  He  and  his  wife  were 
rarely  suited  to  each  other ;  she  was  a  spiritu 
ally-minded  and  an  intellectual  woman,  religious, 
fond  of  poetry,  dearly  loved  by  those  who  knew 
her  best.  She  was  endowed  by  nature  with  a 
sweet,  joyful  disposition,  with  humor  and  flashes 
of  wit,  and  with  the  high  courage  requisite  to 
tend  unfalteringly  the  pain  and  suffering  of  the 
man  she  loved.  She,  too,  was  calm  outwardly 
and  ardent  underneath,  and  in  self-abnegation 
and  devotion  bore  her  great  sorrows.  She  put 
aside  everything  to  minister  to  him,  became  his 
eyesight  and  his  health,  and  lived  his  life  in 
all  ways  possible.  The  death  of  her  little  son, 
Francis,  broke  her  heart,  and  it  never  healed ; 
after  that  she  went  about  like  one  who  belonged 
in  another  world.  In  the  last  year  of  her  life 
she  was  called  upon  to  bear  her  husband's  worst 
illness ;  but  the  first  years  of  married  life  were 


218  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

gay  and  happy.  They  were  poor,  with  not  much 
more  than  six  hundred  dollars  a  year  to  begin 
housekeeping :  — 

Sie  batten  nichts  und  doch  genug  — 

In  the  winter  they  lived  part  of  the  time  at  his 
father's  house,  and  part  at  Dr.  Bigelow's ;  one 
summer  they  spent  at  Milton,  the  next  at  Brook- 
line.  Some  letters  to  Mr.  Norton,  who  was  at 
that  time  in  Europe,  written  soon  after  their 
marriage,  reveal  their  interests  and  their  happi 
ness. 

PARKMAN   TO   NORTON    [dictated]. 

MII/TON,  June  15,  [1850]. 

MY  DEAR  CHARLEY,  —  ...  I  have  a  place 
near  Milton  Hill,  small,  snug,  and  comfortable, 
where  I  can  offer  entertainment  for  man  and 
beast,  of  which  I  hope  you  and  your  steed  will 
one  day  avail  yourselves.  We  have  woods  about 
us  dark  enough  for  an  owl  to  hide  in,  very  fair 
society,  not  too  near  to  bore  us,  and,  what  is 
quite  as  much  to  the  purpose,  a  railroad  to  place 
us  within  arm's  reach  of  town.  This  kind  of  life 
has  one  or  two  drawbacks,  such  as  the  necessity 
of  paying  bills,  and  the  manifold  responsibilities 
of  a  householder,  an  impending  visit  from  the 
tax-gatherer,  and  petitions  for  the  furtherance  of 
charitable  enterprises  which,  as  I  am  informed, 
the  son  of  my  father  will  not  fail  to  promote.  .  .  . 

I  have  a  reader  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  when 
it  is  not  too  bright  play  the  amateur  farmer,  to 
the  great  benefit  of  my  corporeal  man.  Kate 


LIFE   AND   LITERATURE,  1850-1856       219 

[Mrs.  Parkman]  is  generally  my  amanuensis, 
as  perhaps  you  may  see  by  this  handwriting. 
Pontiac  is  about  three  quarters  through,  and  I 
hope  will  see  the  light  within  a  year.  I  cal 
culated  at  starting  it  would  take  four  years  to 
finish  it,  which,  at  the  pace  I  was  then  writing, 
was  about  a  straight  calculation,  for  I  was  then 
handsomely  used  up,  soul  and  body  on  the  rack, 
and  with  no  external  means  or  appliances  to 
help  ine  on.  You  may  judge  whether  my  present 
condition  is  a  more  favorable  one.  I  detest  be 
ing  spooney  or  an  approximation  to  it,  so  I  say 
nothing,  but  if  you  want  to  understand  the  thing, 
take  a  jump  out  of  hell-fire  to  the  opposite  ex 
treme,  such  a  one,  in  short,  as  Satan  made  when 
he  broke  bounds  and  paid  his  visit  to  our  first 
parents.  .  .  . 

With  the  greatest  regard,  very  truly  yours, 

F.  PARKMAN,  JR. 

SAME  TO  SAME  [dictated]. 

MILTON,  Sept.  22d,  1850. 

MY  DEAR  CHARLEY,  —  It  is  a  fortnight  since 
your  letter  came  to  hand,  and  I  have  been  too 
busy  to  answer  it;  rather  a  new  condition  of 
things  for  me,  but  the  fact  is  all  the  time  which 
I  could  prudently  give  to  work  has  been  taken  up 
in  carrying  forward  my  book  so  as  to  be  ready 
for  publication  next  spring.  I  see  that  you  are 
a  true-hearted  American,  and  have  too  much 
sense  to  be  bitten  by  the  John  Bull  mania,  which 
is  the  prevailing  disease  of  Boston  in  high  places 
and  in  low.  A  disgusting  malady  it  is,  and  I 
pray  Heaven  to  deliver  us  from  its  influence. 


220  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

We  can  afford  to  stand  on  our  own  feet  and 
travel  our  own  course  without  aid  or  guidance  ; 
and  ray  maxim  is,  that  it  is  about  as  well  to  go 
wrong  on  one's  own  hook  as  to  go  right  by  slav 
ishly  tagging  at  the  heels  of  another.  But  in  the 
present  case  the  thing  is  reversed.  It  is  we  that 
are  going  right,  and  John  Bull  may  go  to  the 
devil.  Fine  Yankee  brag,  —  is  n't  it  ?  In  spite 
of  Taylor's  [President  Taylor]  death  we  have 
come  out  right  at  last.  There  is  no  danger,  thank 
God,  of  the  Union  breaking  up  at  present,  in 
spite  of  all  the  efforts  of  Garrison  and  his  coad 
jutors. 

I  wish  with  all  my  heart  that  you  could  be 
here,  as  you  kindly  wish,  at  the  forthcoming  of 
my  book ;  but  a  copy  shall  be  put  by  for  you. 
I  find  it  seriously  no  easy  job  to  accomplish  all 
the  details  of  dates,  citations,  notes,  etc.,  with 
out  the  use  of  eyes.  Prescott  could  see  a  little 
—  confound  him,  he  could  even  look  over  his 
proofs,  but  I  am  no  better  off  than  an  owl  in 
the  sunlight.  The  ugliest  job  of  the  whole  is 
getting  up  a  map.  I  have  a  draught  made  in 
the  first  place  on  a  very  large  scale.  Then  I 
direct  how  to  fill  it  in  with  the  names  of  forts, 
Indian  villages,  etc.,  all  of  which  I  have  pretty 
clearly  in  my  memory  from  the  reading  of  count 
less  journals,  letters,  etc.,  and  former  travels 
over  the  whole  ground.  Then  I  examine  the 
map  inch  by  inch,  taking  about  half  a  minute 
for  each  examination,  and  also  have  it  com 
pared  by  competent  eyes  with  ancient  maps  and 
draughts ;  then  I  have  the  big  map  reduced  to  a 
proper  size.  I  have  got  to  the  end  of  the  book 


LIFE   AND   LITERATURE,  1850-1856      221 

and  killed  off  Pontiac.  The  opening  chapters, 
however,  are  not  yet  complete.  I  have  just 
finished  an  introductory  chapter  on  the  Indian 
tribes,  which  my  wife  pronounces  uncommonly 
stupid.  Never  mind,  nobody  need  read  it  who 
don't  want  to,  ...  I  shall  stereotype  it  myself 
and  take  the  risk.  .  .  . 

I  remain,  my  dear  Charley,  ever  faithfully 
yours, 

F.  PARKMAN,  JR. 

Another  extract  from  this  correspondence 
shall  be  the  last. 

SAME  TO  SAME  [dictated]. 

Nov.  10th,  1850. 

.  .  .  Just  now  we  are  on  the  eve  of  an  elec 
tion  —  a  great  row  about  the  Fugitive  Slave 
Law,  and  an  infinity  of  nonsense  talked  and 
acted  upon  the  subject.  A  great  union  party  is 
forming  in  opposition  to  the  abolitionists  and 
the  Southern  fanatics.  For  my  part,  I  would  see 
every  slave  knocked  on  the  head  before  I  would 
see  the  Union  go  to  pieces,  and  would  include 
,in  the  sacrifice  as  many  abolitionists  as  could  be 
conveniently  brought  together.  .  .  . 

All  his  life  Parkman  liked  common  sense. 
He  was  irritated  by  sentimentality,  by  fanati 
cism,  by  transcendentalism,  by  eccentricity  of 
thought ;  and  he  was  wont  to  relieve  his  mind 
by  a  little  emphatic  language,  which  he  was 
pleased  to  enhance  with  a  certain  extravagance, 
half  in  jest,  half  in  relief  of  his  humors. 


222  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

The  "  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac,"  was  published 
in  1851,  but  it  had  been  ready  for  more  than  a 
twelve-month.  Mr.  Jared  Sparks  read  a  portion 
of  the  manuscript  in  March,  1850.  "  It  affords," 
he  says,  "  a  striking  picture  of  the  influence  of 
war  and  religious  bigotry  upon  savage  and  semi- 
barbarous  minds."  But  the  old  pedagogical  his 
torian  of  the  earlier  American  generation,  miss 
ing  in  the  young  historian  of  a  new  school  a 
proper  predilection  for  moral  lessons,  so  ready 
to  hand,  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  stop 
there.  Referring  to  the  massacre  by  the  Paxton 
Boys,1  he  writes :  "  The  provocation  and  sur 
rounding  circumstances  afford  no  ground  of  miti 
gation  of  so  inhuman  a  crime.  It  is  one  of  the 
great  lessons  of  history,  showing  what  passion 
is  capable  of  doing  when  it  defies  reason  and 
tramples  on  the  sensibilities  of  nature,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  high  injunctions  of  Christianity. 
Although  you  relate  events  in  the  true  spirit 
of  calmness  and  justice,  yet  I  am  not  sure  but 
a  word  or  two  of  indignation  now  and  then,  at 
such  unnatural  and  inhuman  developments  of 
the  inner  man,  would  be  expected  of  a  historian, 
who  enters  deeply  into  the  merits  of  his  sub 
jects."  But  Parkman  preferred  to  state  facts  as 
he  believed  them  to  be,  and  to  let  his  readers 
make  their  own  philosophical  deductions  and 

1  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac,  chap.  xadv. 


LIFE   AND  LITERATURE,  1850-1856       223 

ejaculate  their  own  exclamations  of  indignation 
or  content. 

Negotiations  for  publication  began  in  the  sum 
mer,  when  the  manuscript  was  submitted  to 
Messrs.  Harper  &  Brother  by  a  friend.  Park- 
man  would  have  preferred  to  have  the  book  pub 
lished  in  two  volumes,  in  appearance  similar  to 
Prescott's  "  Conquest  of  Mexico,"  but  the  pre 
cise  form  was  indifferent  to  him  "  provided  the 
book  appear  in  a  decent  and  scholar-like  dress." 
The  title  caused  him  some  perplexity.  He  sug 
gested  the  following  name,  "  which,  however,  I 
don't  greatly  admire,"  •  —  it  certainly  is  open  to 
criticism  from  a  bookbinder  who  should  wish  to 
stamp  the  name  on  the  back,  —  "A  History  of 
the  War  with  Pontiac  and  the  Indian  Tribes  of 
North  America  in  their  combined  attack  upon 
the  British  Colonies  after  the  Conquest  of  Can 
ada,"  or  "  A  History  of  the  Conspiracy  of  Pon 
tiac  and  the  Struggle  of  the  North  American 
Indians  against  the  British  Colonies  after  the 
Conquest  of  Canada ;  "  and  again,  "  The  War 
with  Pontiac  (or  Pontiac's  War),  a  History  of 
the  Outbreak  of  the  Indian  Tribes  of  America 
against  the  British  Colonies  after  the  Conquest 
of  Canada."  The  difficulty  for  the  outside  of  the 
book  was  the  same  as  for  the  inside ;  the  far- 
spread  border  war  resisted  the  attempt  to  crib 
and  confine  it  within  the  circle  of  unity. 


224  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

The  prudent  Harpers,  scared  perhaps  by 
these  titles,  submitted  the  MS.  to  their  reader, 
and  wrote  back  :  — 

"  Our  Reader  [the  capital  R  served  both  to  show 
how  Rhadamanthine  that  gentleman  was,  and  to 
soften  the  Rejection]  has  just  returned  to  us 
Mr.  Parkman's  MS.  His  opinion,  as  regards 
the  literary  execution  of  the  work,  etc.,  is  very 
favorable,  —  but  he  is  apprehensive  that  the 
work,  highly  respectable  as  it  is,  will  not  meet 
with  a  very  rapid  or  extensive  sale,"  etc.,  etc. 

"  Our  Reader"  had  said :  — 

The  subject  is  handled  with  very  considerable 
ability  —  in  a  manner  highly  creditable  to  the 
industry,  intelligence,  and  literary  skill  of  the 
author.  The  narrative  is  lively  and  often  grace 
ful,  the  rules  of  historical  perspective  are  well 
observed,  and  the  whole  effect  of  the  picture  is 
pleasing  and  impressive.  It  will  worthily  fill  a 
notch  among  the  standard  works  of  American 
history.  At  the  same  time,  I  do  not  anticipate 
for  it  a  remarkably  brilliant  reception.  This  is 
forbidden  both  by  the  subject  and  the  style.  .  .  . 
It  will  require  a  good  deal  of  effort  to  push  it 
into  general  circulation  among  the  people. 

Therefore  the  Harpers,  in  the  self-respecting 
phraseology  of  the  old-fashioned  counting-room, 
advised  that  Parkman  should  stereotype  the  work 
at  his  own  cost,  and  then  submit  the  plate  proofs 
to  various  publishers,  and  find  where  he  could 
get  the  best  terms. 


LIFE  AND  LITERATURE,  1850-1856      225 

Parkman  followed  this  advice  and  had  the 
book  stereotyped,  having  learned  what  terms  to 
make  by  borrowing  from  the  "  confounded " 
Prescott  the  latter's  contract  with  a  printer  for 
stereotyping  the  "  Conquest  of  Mexico/'  The 
book  was  published  by  Messrs.  Little  &  Brown. 

"  Our  Reader  "  was  sagacious  ;  the  book  was 
not  a  popular  success.  But  those  who  read  it 
admired  and  enjoyed  it.  Mr.  Jared  Sparks  may 
speak  for  the  students  of  American  history :  — 

CAMBRIDGE,  June  4,  1850. 

I  have  been  intimately  acquainted  with  ye 
progress  of  Mr.  Parkman's  historical  studies 
several  years.  On  ye  subject  of  our  Indian  His 
tory,  subsequent  to  ye  French  War,  he  has  taken 
unwearied  pains  to  collect  materials,  and  has 
procured  copies  of  many  original  manuscripts 
and  papers  both  in  this  country  and  from  ye 
public  offices  in  London.  I  doubt  if  any  writer 
has  bestowed  more  thorough  research,  or  has 
more  completely  investigated  his  subject.  I  have 
read  one  chapter  of  his  work,  wh.  appeared  to 
me  to  be  written  in  a  spirited  style,  and  with 
good  judgment  and  discrimination  in  ye  selec 
tion  of  facts. 

Other  readers  wrote  their  feelings,  —  perhaps 
none  of  them  are  entitled  to  speak  for  anybody 
but  themselves.  Mr.  Gr.  R.  Russell,  however,  a 
relation,  expressed  a  common  opinion  in  a  letter 
to  Parkman :  — 


226  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

I  have  just  finished  reading  your  "  History  of 
the  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac."  I  have  read  the  work 
with  great  care,  going  over  parts  of  it  twice,  not 
for  purposes  of  criticism,  but  to  enjoy  the  really 
beautiful  descriptions,  which  place  scenes  before 
the  reader  as  distinctly  conspicuous  as  though  he 
gazed  at  them  wrought  out  on  canvas  by  the  hand 
of  a  master. 

Particular  reasons  for  enjoyment  are  unimpor 
tant  matters  of  personal  taste  which  the  reader 
must  determine  for  himself ;  but  the  young  man, 
the  middle-aged  man,  or  the  graybeard,  is  not  to 
be  envied  who,  even  now,  fifty  years  after  its 
publication,  cannot  sit  up  half  the  night  over  the 
pages  of  "  Pontiac  "  and  read  about  the  bloody 
scalpings,  skirmishes,  forays,  and  battles  which 
arouse  that  central  government  of  our  being,  the 
aboriginal  savage  in  us.  John  Fiske  says  that 
the  secret  of  Parkman's  power  is  that  his  Indians 
are  true  to  the  life,  —  that  Pontiac  is  a  man  of 
warm  flesh  and  blood. 

The  book  was  also  published  in  London  by 
Richard  Bentley  at  the  time  of  the  publication  of 
the  American  edition.  Mr.  Bentley  took  a  more 
hopeful  view  than  the  Reader  for  the  Harpers, 
but  that  keen-scented  gentleman,  with  his  daintier 
sense  of  the  reading  public's  appetites,  was  the 
more  accurate.  At  the  end  of  a  year  the  English 
publisher's  account  carried  a  deficit  of  £53  0  2, 
and  his  ledger  showed  that  of  the  five  hundred 


LIFE  AND   LITERATURE,  1850-1856       227 

copies  printed,  but  one  hundred  and  fifty-three 
had  been  sold. 

Parkman,  however,  never  fell  before  the  tempta 
tion  to  dally  over  that  which  had  been  done,  — 
stopping  neither  to  regret  this  nor  to  wish  that 
changed ;  he  ever  pressed  onward  to  the  things 
that  were  before.  No  sooner  was  "  Pontiac  "  pub 
lished  than  he  strained  in  his  leash  to  get  after 
his  great  quarry,  the  English-French  contest.  But 
the  devils  of  ill  health  leaped  upon  him.  In  the 
autumn  of  1851  an  effusion  of  water  on  the  left 
knee  lamed  him  ;  a  partial  recovery  was  followed 
by  a  relapse,  which  came  to  a  crisis  in  1853  and 
shut  him  up  in  the  house  for  two  years.  An  odd 
consequence  was  that  all  the  irritability  of  his 
nervous  system  centred  in  his  head,  causing  him 
great  pain.  When  he  tried  to  fix  his  attention, 
he  felt  as  if  he  had  an  iron  band  clamped  around 
his  head,  like  an  old  instrument  of  torture ;  at 
other  times  his  thoughts  swooped  through  his 
brain  like  an  infernal  blast,  with  a  horrid  con 
fusion  of  tossing  pains.  In  the  train  of  these 
furies  followed  sleepless  nights.  Work  upon  his 
history  was  impossible.  Afterwards,  when  the 
rage  of  the  crisis  was  spent,  he  betook  himself 
to  writing  reviews  of  historical  books,  and  in 
1856  he  published  a  novel,  "  Vassall  Morton." 
Perhaps  in  writing  the  novel  he  wished  to  occupy 
time  which  he  could  not  use  in  graver  work,  per- 


228  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

haps  he  desired  to  prove  himself  in  a  new  field. 
The  novel  was  not  a  success.  To  most  readers 
to-day,  merely  seeking  selfish  amusement,  the 
book  does  not  appear  to  have  deserved  success. 
Parkman  himself  rated  it  at  its  worth,  or  proba 
bly  at  less  than  its  worth  ;  he  never  spoke  of  it, 

and  did  not  include  it  in  his  collected  works.    Its 

i 

real  interest  is  in  the  self-revelation  of  the  au 
thor  ;  for  Vassall  Morton,  the  hero,  is  undoubt 
edly  in  great  measure  drawn  from  Parkman's 
own  imagination  of  himself.  The  generation  of 
that  day,  however,  had  its  own  appetite  in  novels, 
and  people  of  taste  here  and  there  liked  it. 

George  William  Curtis,  in  "  Putnam's 
Monthly,"  said  that  "Vassall  Morton"  was  far 
the  best  of  late  American  novels,  but  that  it 
was  sketchy,  as  if  tossed  off  in  intervals  of 
severer  study,  and  not  equal  to  what  was  to  be 
expected  from  Parkman's  position  in  literature. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

1858-1865 

THE  following  years  brought  the  great  sorrows 
of  his  life ;  in  1857  his  little  boy  died,  the  next 
year  his  wife  died,  leaving  him  with  two  little 
girls,  Grace  and  Katharine,  and  as  if  to  prove 
him,  body  and  soul  at  once,  another  fierce  attack 
of  his  malady  fell  upon  him.  Some  friend  senti 
mentally  assumed  that  he  had  nothing  more  to 
live  for,  but  his  blunt  answer  intimated  that 
Francis  Parkman  was  not  born  to  hoist  the 
white  flag. 

This  attack  of  illness  was  so  bad  that  the  doc 
tor  hardly  expected  him  to  live,  but  Parkman 
meant  to  make  a  fight  for  life,  and  went  to  Paris 
to  consult  the  famous  physician,  Brown-Sequard. 
On  the  steamer  he  met  Professor  Child.  The  fol 
lowing  letters  show  somewhat  of  his  condition  : 

PROFESSOR   F.    J.    CHILD   TO    PARKMAN. 

GENOA,  21  January,  [1859]. 

MY  DEAK  FRIEND, —  ...  I  must  not  ask 
about  you  because  I  know  you  cannot  answer 


230  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

me  by  pen  and  ink.  You  will  believe  that  though 
I  have  not  written  I  have  thought  a  great  deal 
of  you.  I  wish  that  you  may  have  found  at  least 
some  alleviation  to  your  great  sufferings  in  Paris, 
—  or  if  not  there  in  the  mountains,  —  and  I  wish 
that  we  could  meet  every  now  and  then,  and  go 
back  in  the  same  ship.  My  dear  fellow,  you  can 
not  even  read  much,  and  so  you  must  believe 
that  there  is  a  great  deal  in  these  last  lines  when 
I  say  that  I  shall  never  forget  your  magnanimous 
fortitude,  that  I  felt  an  intense  sympathy  for 
you  that  I  could  not  express  when  we  were  to 
gether,  and  that  I  shall  often  pray  God  to  help 
you,  as  I  have  constant  occasion  to  do  for  other 
friends. 

NICE,  23  February,  [1859]. 

...  I  begin  faintly  to  realize  what  I  have 
often  supposed  I  thoroughly  comprehended,— 
but  did  not,  —  that  happiness  in  this  world  is 
par  dessus  le  marche.  I  don't  mean  to  talk  like 
a  philosopher.  Your  experience,  given  with  such 
profound  feeling  and  conviction  in  our  first  con 
versation  on  board  ship,  ought  never  to  be  lost 
sight  of  by  me.  My  dear  fellow,  I  hope  you  get 
some  comfort  from  heaven,  if  none  on  earth. 
Remember  me  kindly.  I  received  your  message. 
God  bless  you  ever. 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

F.  CHILD. 

This  letter  confirms  what  his  closest  friends 
knew,  that,  where  Parkman  met  a  man  like 
Child,  endowed  by  nature  with  ten  talents  for 
tenderness,  he  laid  aside  the  grim  aspect  of  his 


1858-1865  231 

reserve  and  showed  his  sensitiveness  to  affec 
tion. 

Parkman  stayed  in  Paris  for  several  months. 
He  wrote  home  some  scraps  of  information  about 
his  health,  in  answer  to  a  loving  appeal  from  his 
sisters,  "  Do  not  write  the  best  of  it  to  us,  write 
the  whole ;  "  they  were  ready,  as  he  knew,  "  to 
give  their  health  to  him,"  if  only  nature  had 
allowed  love  to  make  the  sacrifice. 

PARKMAN   TO   HIS   SISTER. 

PAKIS,  Dec.  22,  '58. 

MY  DEAK  MOLLY,  —  I  got  y'r  letter  yester 
day  with  Grace's  remarkable  designs.  I  was 
very  glad  to  hear  from  home.  ...  I  am  well 
lodged,  Hotel  de  France,  239  Rue  St.  Honore  — 
have  felt  much  better  since  arriving.  I  find 
abundant  occupation  for  the  winter.  I  often  see 
Anna  Greene,  and  have  been  at  Howland's  and 
Mrs.  Wharton's.  For  the  rest,  I  shun  Americans 
like  the  pest.  I  have  not  even  given  my  address 
to  my  bankers,  Hottinguer  &  Co.,  to  whom 
please  direct.  I  tell  them  to  send  my  letters 
to  Wm.  Greene.  I  passed  the  Empress  day  be 
fore  yesterday,  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne ;  I  re 
ceived  a  gracious  bow  in  return  of  my  salute. 
On  the  previous  day,  the  heir  of  the  Empress, 
about  3  years  old,  was  walking  with  his  gou- 
vernante  and  servants  in  the  garden  of  the  Tui- 
leries,  while  a  line  of  Zouave  sentinels  kept  the 
crowd  at  a  safe  distance.  Paris  is  greatly 
changed  since  I  was  here  14  years  ago.  The 


232  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

Emperor  has  made  great  improvements  in  many 
parts  and  added  vastly  to  the  beauty  of  the  city. 
Tell  Jack  [his  brother]  I  cannot  advise  him  to 
come,  as  the  cigars  are  very  bad.  Give  my  love 
to  Grace  [daughter],  mother,  Lizzie  [sister],  and 
all.  Y'rs  affect'ly,  F. 

SAME  TO   SAME. 

PARIS,  Jan.  13,  1859. 

MY  DEAR  MOLL,  —  I  got  y'r  letter  yesterday 
and  Lizzy's  some  time  ago.  By  this  time  all 
mine  will  have  come.  I  wrote  Dr.  B.  [Bigelow] 
that  I  was  floored  with  lameness.  It  still  con 
tinues,  but  seems  mending,  so  that  I  get  about 
—  drive  all  day  (chiefly  on  omnibuses  ! !),  dine 
at  6,  and  commonly  spend  the  evening  at  the 
cafes.  I  have  seen  Dr.  Brown-Sequard,  who  fixed 
Sumner's  head.  He  says  he  can  soon  cure  the 
lameness,  but  that  the  head  is  quite  another 
matter.  He  says,  however,  that  it  will  not  kill 
me,  and  at  some  remote  period  may  possibly  be 
come  better.  He  has  2  other  cases  of  the  kind 
but  says  they  are  very  rare.  I  am  still  unable  to 
walk  more  than  5  minutes  at  a  time.  .  .  . 

I  am  greatly  obliged  to  Uncle  C.  [Chardon] 
for  his  remembrance,  and  hope  the  youngster 
will  do  honor  to  the  name.  He  should  be 
brought  up  to  some  respectable  calling,  and  not 
allowed  to  become  a  minister.  .  .  .  [He  had  a 
high  regard  for  many  of  the  clergy,  but  liked  to 
chaff  them  as  a  body.]  Love  to  Jack.  Ditto 
to  Grace,  to  whom  I  would  send  a  little  doll,  if 
it  would  go  into  the  letter.  With  love  to  mo 
ther  and  Lizzy,  Y'rs  aff'ly,  F. 


1858-1865  233 

PARKMAN    TO   HIS   SISTER. 

PAKIS,  Jan.  19,  1859. 

MY  DEAR  Liz,  —  My  knees  are  somewhat 
better,  and  I  am  about  all  day,  sleep  well,  etc. 
So  much  for  my  corporeal  state.  I  mean  to  stay 
here  some  time,  as  I  am  better  off  than  else 
where.  ...  I  see  Anna  Greene  almost  daily. 
Greene  is  a  capital  fellow,  and  nothing  of  a  par 
son.  X  wrote  me  a  long  letter  in  which  she 
advises  me  to  leave  Paris,  as  the  contrast  be 
tween  outward  gayety  and  inward  sin  must  grate 
dreadfully  on  my  feelings!  I  used  to  think 
her  a  woman  of  sense  and  understanding.  What 
the  devil  are  your  sex  made  of  ?  Also  that  I 
should  leave  my  hotel  and  live  at  a  boarding- 
house  kept  by  a  female  friend  of  hers,  where  I 
should  be  surrounded  by  such  kind  people !  I 
shall  stop  off  that  sort  of  thing. 

Y'rs  affec'ly,  F. 

PARKMAN   TO    HIS   SISTER. 

PARIS,  Feb.  30,  1859. 

MY  DEAR  MOLLY,  —  I  got  y' r  letter  of  Feb.  8 
about  a  week  ago.  I  am  a  little  less  lame.  I  get 
on  well  enough.  The  omnibuses  of  Paris  —  of 
which  there  are  about  700  —  are  made  with  rail 
ings,  etc.,  in  such  a  way  that  with  a  little  science  I 
can  swing  myself  to  the  top  with  the  arms  alone, 
and  here  I  usually  spend  the  better  part  of  the 
day  smoking  cigarettes  and  surveying  the  crowds 
below.  I  have  formed  an  extensive  acquaintance 
among  omnibus  cads  and  the  like,  whom  I  find 
to  be  first-rate  fellows  in  their  way  —  also  have 


234  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

learned  pretty  thoroughly  the  streets  of  Paris, 
where  much  may  be  seen  from  the  top  of  an 
omnibus.  When  hungry  or  thirsty,  I  descend  to 
any  restaurant,  cafe,  or  "  buffet "  that  happens 
to  be  near,  whether  of  low  or  high  degree,  if 
only  clean.  In  fine  weather,  an  hour  or  two  may 
always  be  spent  pleasantly  enough,  between  2 
and  5  o'clock,  in  the  open  air  under  the  porches 
of  the  cafes  on  the  Boulevards,  where  all  Paris 
passes  by.1 

In  one  respect  I  have  gained  greatly  from 
Brown-Sequard's  treatment.  The  muscles,  which 
ever  since  my  first  lameness  have  been  very  much 
reduced  and  weakened,  are  restored  wholly  to 
their  natural  size  and  strength,  so  that  when  the 
neuralgic  pain  subsides  I  shall  be  in  a  much 
better  condition  than  before.  .  .  . 

Y'rs  aff'ly,  R 

His  health,  however,  made  but  little  gain,  and 
he  went  home  after  the  winter  was  over.  From 
this  time  he  lived  with  his  mother  and  sisters,  at 
their  house  in  town  in  the  winter,  at  his  house 
hard  by  Jamaica  Pond  in  the  summer.  His 
daughters  had  gone  to  live  with  their  aunt,  Miss 
Bigelow,  for  he  was  unable  to  take  the  charge 
of  them.  This  little  country-place  on  Jamaica 
Pond  was  one  of  the  great  pleasures  in  his  life. 
He  had  bought  the  cottage,  with  three  acres  of 
garden  about  it,  after  his  father's  death,  in  1852, 
and  there  he  lived,  in  warm  weather,  all  his  life. 
1  Life  of  Francis  Parkman,  pp.  101,  102. 


1858-1865  235 

It  was  on  the  border  of  Jamaica  Pond  that 
Parkman  revealed  a  versatility  of  spirit  which, 
in  a  man  whose  indomitable  will  was  clinched 
upon  a  work  of  history,  the  dream  of  his  boy 
hood,  may  well  quicken  the  most  sluggish  admi 
ration.  Balked  in  his  course,  pulled  off  from  his 
chosen  work,  another  man  would  have  felt  justi 
fied  in  despair,  at  least  in  idleness ;  not  so  he. 
His  wife  had  given  him  the  suggestion,  "  Frank, 
with  all  your  getting,  get  roses."  Up  he  got  and 
made  a  garden  of  roses.  He  had  three  acres,  his 
man  Michael,  such  enrichment  of  the  soil  as  a 
horse,  a  cow,  and  a  pig  could  supply,  a  few 
garden  implements,  and  a  wheeled  chair,  or  in 
happy  seasons  a  cane  ;  with  these  he  grew  his 
beautiful  roses,  "  Madame  Henriette,  rosy  pink, 
very  large  and  beautiful,"  "  ^Etna,  brilliant  crim 
son  tinted  with  purple,"  "  Mariquita,  white, 
lightly  shaded,  beautiful,"  "  Marechal  Niel,  beau 
tiful,  deep  yellow,  large,  full,  and  of  globular 
form,  very  sweet,  the  shoots  well  clothed  with 
large  shining  leaves,"  "  Euphrosyne,  creamy  buff, 
very  sweet  and  good,"  and  a  thousand  more.  Suc 
cess  led  to  a  head-gardener,  spadesman,  and  hoe- 
man,  to  greenhouse,  hotbeds,  hybrids,  horticul 
tural  shows,  medals,  and  all  the  pomp  that  Flora 
showers  on  her  successful  bedesmen.  He  loved 
what  he  calls  "  that  gracious  art  which  through 
all  time  has  been  the  companion  and  symbol  of 


236  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

peace  ;  an  art  joined  in  the  closest  ties  with  Na 
ture,  and  her  helper  in  the  daily  miracle  by 
which  she  works  beauty  out  of  foulness  and  life 
out  of  corruption  ;  an  art  so  tranquillizing  and 
so  benign ;  so  rich  in  consolations  and  plea 
sures."  He  turned  to  Nature  like  a  lover,  and 
with  the  industry  and  will  of  a  man  who  meant 
to  be  "  a  jolly  thriving  wooer."  His  character 
was  his  art.  In  "  The  Book  of  Roses  "  he  says :  — 

One  point  cannot  be  too  often  urged  in  re 
spect  to  horticultural  pursuits.  Never  attempt 
to  do  anything  which  you  are  not  prepared  to  do 
thoroughly.  A  little  done  well  is  far  more  satis 
factory  than  a  great  deal  done  carelessly  and 
superficially.  .  .  .  The  amateur  who  has  made 
himself  a  thorough  master  of  the  cultivation  of 
a  single  species  or  variety  has,  of  necessity,  ac 
quired  a  knowledge  and  skill  which,  with  very 
little  pains,  he  may  apply  to  numberless  other 
forms  of  culture. 

This  is  the  way  he  went  to  work  for  a  bed  of 
roses.  He  took  a  plot  some  sixty  feet  long  by 
forty  wide,  his  gardener  dug  it,  turned  it,  spaded 
it,  and  hoed  it  two  feet  and  a  half  deep.  Then 
a  layer  of  manure  was  spread  at  a  depth  of 
eighteen  inches ;  on  top  of  that  a  spaded  mix 
ture  of  native  yellow  loam  nicely  intermin 
gled  with  black  surface  soil  was  shoveled  in ; 
then,  this  time  nine  inches  deep,  a  second  layer 
of  manure,  and  again  on  top  of  that  a  shoveling 


1858-1865  237 

of  the  nicely  intermingled  dirt.  On  top  of  the 
bed  he  spread  a  third  layer  of  manure,  with  a 
goodly  supply  of  sandy  road-scrapings.  Each 
act  was  performed  with  sacerdotal  exactness. 
The  manure  was  not  home-got,  for  he  had  "  found 
no  enriching  material  so  good  as  the  sweepings 
from  the  floor  of  a  horseshoer,  in  which  manure 
is  mixed  with  the  shavings  of  hoofs,"  -  —  it  was 
light  and  porous,  and  altogether  deserving  of 
commendation. 

Sometimes  in  his  wheeled  chair  he  would  pro 
pel  himself  from  tuft  to  tuft,  armed  with  trowel 
or  sickle,  but  he  liked  best  to  superintend  some 
delicate  manoauvre,  as  of  sowing  the  seeds  of 
roses ;  there  he  sat,  one  hand  on  a  wheel,  to 
revolve  himself  along  the  edge  of  the  bed, — 
carefully  made  of  loam,  old  manure,  leaf -mould, 
and  sand,  —  and  with  the  other  hand  scattered 
broadcast  and  thick  over  the  expectant  ground 
seeds  born  of  some  marriage  of  horticultural  con- 
venance  contrived  by  himself.  Thus  he  came  to 
love  stocks,  stalks,  runners,  creepers,  corollas, 
pistils,  stamens ;  and,  love  of  science  mingling 
with  his  love  of  beauty,  he  gradually  devoted 
himself  almost  exclusively  to  the  hybridization 
of  lilies  and  the  cultivation  of  roses.  Thus  forced 
to  leave  library  and  desk,  and  the  long  lists  of 
catalogued  and  ticketed  manuscripts,  he  betook 
himself  to  the  business  of  growing  and  selling 


238  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

flowers.    He  was  better  at  growing  than  at  sell 
ing,  and  took  a  partner  for  a  season. 

PARKMAN   TO   MRS.    SAM.    PARKMAN. 

JAMAICA  PLAIN,  Ap.  4,  1862. 

MY  DEAR  MARY,  —  ...  I  am  daily  here  —  in 
Jamaica  Plain  —  and  am  at  last  really  busy,  hav 
ing  formed  a  partnership  with  Spooner  [a  florist] 
which  will  absorb  all  the  working  faculties  1 
have  left.  So  you  find  me  a  man  of  business.  I 
am  content  with  the  move,  and  resolved  to  give 
the  thing  a  fair  trial,  and,  by  one  end  of  the 
horn  or  the  other,  work  a  way  out  of  a  condi 
tion  of  helplessness.  At  all  events,  this  is  my 
best  chance,  and  I  will  give  it  a  trial.  Spooner 
wants  me  to  go  to  England  and  France  in  the 
fall,  to  look  up  new  plants.  The  thing  has  dif 
ficulties  and  risks,  not  a  few  under  any  circum 
stances  ;  but  is  attractive,  and  doubly  so  as  it 
gives  me  a  prospect  of  meeting  you.  So  I  cherish 
it,  as  probably  an  illusion,  but  still  a  very  pleas 
ing  one.  Turning  tradesman  has  agreed  with 
me  so  far.  Several  bushels  of  historical  MSS. 
and  fragments  of  abortive  chapters  have  been 
packed  under  lock  and  key,  to  bide  their  time. 
Affecly  y'rs,  F.  P. 

The  firm  did  not  make  money,  and  dissolved 
within  a  year.  Parkman  continued  to  labor  in 
his  garden.  He  became  member,  and  finally 
president,  of  the  Massachusetts  Horticultural  So 
ciety,  and  in  due  course  won  hundreds  of  prizes 
at  the  flower  shows.  His  experiments  in  hybridi- 


1858-1865  239 

zation  of  lilies  were  most  careful,  and  (so  Pro 
fessor  Goodale  says)  there  are  no  better  lessons 
on  this  subject  for  the  botanical  student  than 
Parkman's  own  narrative  of  what  he  did.  He 
wished  to  combine  two  Japanese  lilies,  that  they 
should  not  "  live  unwooed  and  unrespected  fade," 
the  Lily  Beautiful,  with  lancet  leaves,  and  the 
Lily  Golden ;  the  former  was  to  be  the  bride. 
Four  or  five  varieties,  in  color  from  pure  white 
to  deep  red,  were  tended  in  pots  under  glass,  for 
the  Lily  Beautiful  will  not  ripen  its  seed  un- 
coaxed  in  New  England  air.  When  the  flowers 
were  on  the  point  of  opening,  Parkman  took  a 
forceps  and  removed  all  the  anthers  from  the 
expanding  buds,  —  the  pollen  at  that  period  was 
still  wholly  unripe,  and  self-impregnation  was 
impossible.  He  then  applied  the  pollen  of  the 
Lily  Golden  to  the  pistils  of  the  Lily  Beautiful 
as  soon  as  they  were  in  a  condition  to  receive  it. 
Conception  took  place,  the  pods  swelled,  and 
the  seed  ripened  ;  though  the  pods  looked  full, 
they  held  less  seeds  than  chaff,  and  these  seeds 
were  rough  and  wrinkled,  not  like  the  smooth 
seeds  of  the  Lily  Beautiful  when  left  to  itself. 
Fifty  seedlings  were  got,  their  stems  all  mottled 
like  the  father  plant ;  "  the  infant  bulbs  were 
pricked  out  into  a  cold  frame  "  and  left  there 
three  or  four  years ;  then  they  were  planted  in  a 
bed  for  blooming.  One  bud  at  last  opened,  and 


240  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

spread  its  flower  nine  and  a  half  inches  in  di 
ameter,  resembling  its  father  in  fragrance  and 
form,  its  mother  in  color  ;  the  next  year  the  bulb 
produced  a  flower  whose  extended  petals  mea 
sured  twelve  inches  from  tip  to  tip,  and  taken 
to  England  it  produced  other  flowers  fourteen 
inches  across.  This  was  the  famous  Lilium 
Parkmanni.1  The  other  forty-nine  hybrids  all 
put  forth  flowers  like  their  mother's. 

In  1866  he  published  "  The  Book  of  Roses," 
in  which  he  told  the  various  processes  of  culti 
vation,  training,  and  propagation,  —  both  in 
open  ground  and  in  pots,  —  and  gave  accounts 
of  the  various  families  and  groups,  with  descrip 
tions  of  the  best  varieties.  Among  other  fruits 
of  this  book  was  this  letter  :  — 

ESTEEMED  SIR,  —  Allow  one  of  your  most  ar 
dent  admirers  to  address  you,  for  the  purpose  of 
obtaining  from  you  a  floral  sentiment  and  your 
autograph.  I  am  a  great  lover  of  flowers  and 
the  beauties  of  nature  in  general,  and  being  well 
aware  of  the  fact  that  you  are  a  great  floricul- 
tural  historian,  I  take  the  liberty  to  address  you. 
May  I  kindly  ask  if  you  will  favor  me  with  a 
quotation  from  your  "  Book  of  Roses  "  or  else 
some  sublime  floral  sentiment  which  may  occur 
to  your  mind. 

I  am  the  fortunate  possessor  of  floral  senti 
ments  from  the  pen  of  such  celebrated  botanists, 

1  Sold  at  last  to  an  English  florist  for  a  thousand  dollars. 


1858-1865  241 

floriculturists,  and  pomologists  as  ...  [the  quick 
and  the  dead].  I  assure  you,  sir,  that  such  a 
contribution  from  you  will  be  highly  valued  and 
appreciated,  and  long  after  you  shall  have  gone 
to  join  that  grand  and  immortal  army  of  floral 
writers  this  contribution  will  be  sacred  to  me. 
My  object  is  only  to  possess  letters  or  quotations 
dwelling  on  floriculture.  If  you  cannot  think  of 
anything  appropriate,  will  you  kindly  write  for 
me  those  exquisite  words  of  the  late  Solon  Rob 
inson,  "  A  love  of  flowers  is  a  love  of  the  beauti 
ful,  and  a  love  of  the  beautiful  is  a  love  of  the 
good,"  from  his  "Facts  for  Farmers"  (1864), 
p.  500. 

Whether  Mr.  Parkman  gave  a  floricultural  or 
a  pomological  sentiment,  or  none,  is  not  known. 

Outdoor  occupation  did  him  good,  but  per 
haps  the  tenderness  of  the  flowers  —  comforters 
who  comfort  and  ask  neither  thanks  nor  confi 
dence  in  return  —  did  him  more  good  still.  The 
whole  garden  was  delightful,  —  the  best  of  phy 
sicians,  the  best  of  friends.  Sometimes  in  the 
richness  of  the  blossoming  time  the  colors  were 

too  heavily  laid  on  by  the  horticultural  hand ; 

• 

The  fayre  grassy  grownd 
Mantled  with  green,  and  goodly  beautifide 
With  all  the  ornaments  of  Floraes  pride, 
Wherewith  her  mother  Art,  as  halfe  in  scorn 
Of  niggard  Nature,  like  a  pompous  bride 
Did  decke  her,  and  too  lavishly  adorne  — 

was  too  red  and  pink  and  yellow.   The  azaleas, 


242  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

rhododendrons,  magnolias,  syringas,  lilacs,,  and 
the  big  scarlet  Parkman  poppies  were  too  bold 
for  a  less  scientific  eye,  and  overshadowed  the 
columbine,  foxglove,  larkspur,  violet,  even  the 
Japanese  iris,  whose  seeds  had  been  fetched  from 
the  Mikado's  garden,  and  all  the  wee,  modest 
flowers;  but  people  would  drive  thither  many 
miles  to  see  the  splendor  of  the  blossoms. 

The  garden  was  of  modest  dimensions  and 
sloped  down  sharply  to  the  shore,  so  that  the  lit 
tle  walk  from  the  house  to  the  dock  on  the  pond's 
edge  ran  past  all  the  vegetable  friends,  trees, 
shrubs,  and  plants.  There  were  a  tall,  wide- 
spreading  beech,  elms  sixty  feet  high,  a  big  chest 
nut,  a  tulip,  a  plane-tree,  two  white  oaks,  a 
sassafras,  Scottish  maples  and  scarlet  maples, 
lindens,  willows,  pines,  and  hemlocks  ;  and  hold 
ing  themselves  a  little  aloof,  as  befitted  their 
rarity  and  breeding,  a  Kentucky  coffee-tree,  a 
gingko,  the  magnolia  acuminata,  and  the  Park 
man  crab,  first  of  its  kind  in  New  England, 
radiant  with  its  bright-colored  flowers. 

Parkman  always  lived  comfortably  but  sim 
ply,  for  though  he  had  inherited  a  competence 
from  his  father,  his  books  brought  him  in  little, 
—  even  in  his  first  days  of  fame  he  received 
hardly  more,  as  he  said,  than  the  wages  of  a 
day-laborer, — and  his  researches  were  very  ex 
pensive,  and  horticulture  paid  little.  At  the 


1858-1865  243 

time  of  the  partnership  he  was  troubled  by  the 
thought  that  for  the  firm's  benefit  it  might  be  his 
duty  to  sell  the  garden ;  but  he  was  not  obliged 
to  make  that  sacrifice.  His  purse  gradually  be 
came  somewhat  heavier,  so  that  in  1874  he  was 
able  to  build  a  pleasant  house  in  place  of  the 
original  cottage. 

I  have  not  finished  the  list  of  Parkman's  ills. 
He  was  forced  to  endure  anew  the  poison  of  in 
action  when  the  Civil  War  broke  out,  and  the 
"hand  that  should  have  grasped  the  sword  "  — 
an  itching  palm  —  could  hold  nothing  but  the 
trowel  or  the  pen.  He,  with  his  heart  and  soul 
in  the  Union  cause,  and  believing  in  the  enforce 
ment  of  right  by  might,  was  compelled  to  sit 
and  hear  the  President's  call  for  troops,  to  sit 
and  read  Governor  Andrew's  proclamation,  to 
sit  and  see  his  friends  and  kinsmen  ride  away 
to  the  front,  and  in  a  wheeled  chair  or  darkened 
room  to  receive  the  news  of  battle,  of  defeat,  of 
victory.  This  was  bitterer  than  any  pain. 

As  he  himself  said  :  — 

Who  can  ever  forget  the  day  when  from  spires 
and  domes,  windows  and  housetops,  the  stars  and 
stripes  were  flung  to  the  wind,  in  token  that  the 
land  was  roused  at  last  from  deadly  torpor.  They 
were  the  signals  of  a  new  life ;  portentous  of 
storm  and  battle,  yet  radiant  with  hope.  Our 
flag  was  never  so  glorious.  On  that  day  it  be- 


244  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

came  the  emblem  of  truth  and  right  and  justice. 
Through  it  a  mighty  people  proclaimed  a  new 
faith  —  that  peace,  wealth,  ease,  material  pro 
gress  were  not  the  sum  and  substance  of  all  good. 
Loyalty  to  it  became  loyalty  to  humanity  and 
God.  The  shackles  of  generations  were  thrown 
off.  We  were  a  people  disenthralled,  rising  from 
abasement  abject  and  insupportable. 

There  is  not  a  chapter  in  his  books  which  does 
not  show  that  the  bent  of  his  spirit  was  to  fight 
by  day  in  the  forest,  and  bivouac  by  night  under 
the  stars  ;  and  yet  while  a  million  men  were  under 
arms  he  was  not  able  to  take  any  part,  even  the 
very  least.  This  was  his  purgatory  ;  he  sat  with 
outward  calm  and  inward  wrath  in  his  town 
house  or  on  the  banks  of  Jamaica  Pond  and 
wrote  "  The  Book  of  Roses,"  and  put  together 
page  by  page  "  The  Pioneers  of  New  France." 
He  was  a  stoic,  and  believed  the  stoic's  creed, 
that  the  ills  of  life  should  be  accepted  at  the 
hands  of  fate  without  petulance,  without  spleen, 
with  no  word,  not  merely  not  complaining,  but  not 
demanding  sympathy,  not  telling  even  friendly 
ears.  He  believed  in  the  virtue  of  silent  forti 
tude.  This  rule  he  deliberately  put  aside  for 
once.  Before  the  close  of  the  war  he  wrote  the 
brief  autobiographical  letter  published  in  Mr. 
Farnham's  Life,  which  shows  how  much  (in  his 
uncertainty  of  life  and  of  strength  to  labor)  he 
wished  the  world  to  know  that  while  his  friends 


1858-1865  245 

were  dying  for  a  great  cause,  he  was  not  un 
worthy  of  their  friendship,  and  that  but  for  hos 
tile  fate  he  too  would  have  accomplished  no  un 
worthy  thing.  This  letter,  indorsed  "  Not  to  be 
used  during  my  life,"  was  sent  to  Dr.  George  E. 
Ellis  in  1868,  with  a  note  saying :  — 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  Running  my  eye  over 
this  paper,  I  am  more  than  ever  struck  with  its 
egoism,  which  makes  it  totally  unfit  for  any  eye 
but  that  of  one  in  close  personal  relations  with 
me.  It  resulted  from  a  desire  —  natural,  per 
haps,  but  which  may  just  as  well  be  suppressed 
—  to  make  known  the  extreme  difficulties  which 
have  reduced  to  very  small  proportions  what 
might  otherwise  have  been  a  good  measure  of 
achievement.  Having  once  begun  it,  I  went  on 
with  it,  though  convinced  that  it  was  wholly  un- 
suited  to  see  the  light.  Physiologically  consid 
ered,  the  case  is  rather  curious.  ...  If  I  had 
my  life  to  live  over  again,  I  would  follow  exactly 
the  same  course  again,  only  with  less  vehemence. 
Very  cordially,  F.  PARKMAN. 

He  wrote  a  very  similar,  almost  identical,  let 
ter  in  1886  to  Mr.  Martin  Brimmer,  which  is 
printed  in  the  appendix.  Both  letters  were  kept 
secret  till  after  Parkman's  death,  in  accordance 
with  his  instructions. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

HISTORY  AND  FAME 

THE  first  volume  of  the  great  series  on  France 
and  England  in  North  America  was  not  pub 
lished  till  1865.  In  the  preface  he  writes :  — 

To  those  who  have  aided  him  with  information 
and  documents,  the  extreme  slowness  in  the  pro 
gress  of  the  work  will  naturally  have  caused  sur 
prise.  This  slowness  was  unavoidable.  During 
the  past  eighteen  years,  the  state  of  his  health 
has  exacted  throughout  an  extreme  caution  in 
regard  to  mental  application,  reducing  it  at  best 
within  narrow  and  precarious  limits,  and  often 
precluding  it.  Indeed,  for  two  periods,  each  of 
several  years,  any  attempt  at  bookish  occupation 
would  have  been  merely  suicidal.  A  condition  of 
sight  arising  from  kindred  sources  has  also  re 
tarded  the  work,  since  it  has  never  permitted 
reading  or  writing  continuously  for  much  more 
than  five  minutes,  and  often  has  not  permitted 
them  at  all. 

Thus,  so  far  as  concerns  his  history,  the  record 
of  these  laborious  years,  doing  "  day  labor,  light 
denied,"  is  chiefly  a  chronicle  of  the  spirit  domi 
nating  continuous  insurrections  of  the  body.  It 


HISTORY  AND   FAME  247 

is  the  story  of  a  prize-fight  —  a  bout,  a  respite, 
again  a  toeing  of  the  line,  again  blows  hard  and 
heavy,  and  Parkman  again  and  again  coming 
back  to  the  scratch,  on  guard,  teeth  set,  and  reso 
lute  "  never  to  submit  or  yield."  The  cause  of 
all  these  ills  was  the  subject  of  great  disagree 
ment  among  physicians ;  Dr.  George  M.  Gould, 
of  Philadelphia,  has  written  a  very  interesting 
monograph  to  prove  that  unsymmetric  astigma 
tism  and  anisometropia  were  the  prime  devils  in 
his  body.  Sed  non  nobis  —  Procul,  prof  am! 
Enough  of  this,  as  he  himself  would  have  said. 

At  the  time  he  published  "  The  Pioneers  of 
France  in  the  New  World  "  he  had  written  parts 
of  later  volumes,  near  a  third  of  "  The  Jesuits," 
a  half  of  "  La  Salle ; "  also  the  material  for 
"  Frontenac  "  was  partially  arranged  for  compo 
sition,  and  most  of  the  material  for  the  whole 
series  had  been  collected  and  was  within  reach. 
"The  Pioneers"  could  not  fail  of  flattering 
criticism  from  the  newspapers ;  the  episode  of 
Menendez  and  Dominique  de  Gourgues,  the 
story  of  Champlain,  have  all  the  spirit  of  the 
"  Trois  Mousquetaires  "  and  all  the  accuracy  of 
Agassiz.  The  "Tribune"  ventured  to  say  to 
New  Yorkers  that  "  in  vigor  and  pointedness  of 
description,  Mr.  Parkman  may  be  counted  supe 
rior  to  Irving;  "  and  the  "Nation  "  said,  "  This 
book  will  add  his  name  to  the  list  of  those  his- 


248  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

torians  who  have  done  Bonor  to  American  liter 
ature." 

The  other  volumes  followed  with  louder  and 
louder  choruses  of  applause,  —  "  The  Jesuits  in 
North  America"  in  1867,  "La  Salle  and  the 
Discovery  of  the  Great  West"  in  1869,  the 
"  Old  Rdgiine  "  in  1874,  "  Frontenac  "  in  1877, 
"  Montcalin  and  Wolfe  "  in  1884,  for  here  he 
broke  the  sequence  of  his  story  in  order  that  he 
might  run  no  risk,  but  complete  while  yet  time 
served  the  last  great  scene  of  the  play.  After 
wards,  in  1892,  he  published  the  "  Half  Century 
of  Conflict,"  and  the  long  day's  work  was  done. 

The  careless,  pleasure-loving  reader,  who  skips 
prefaces  and  notes,  might  rashly  conclude  that 
what  is  so  delightful  to  read  is  not  to  be  classed 
with  "  profitable  "  books  of  research,  —  which 
commonly  have  the  charm  of  a  law  book  and 
read  like  a  dictionary  ;  to  such  readers  a  page  or 
two  must  be  addressed.  In  the  preface  to  the 
"  Pioneers  "  Parkman  says :  — 

Faithfulness  to  the  truth  of  history  involves 
far  more  than  a  research,  however  patient  and 
scrupulous,  into  special  facts.  .  .  .  The  narrator 
must  seek  to  imbue  himself  with  the  life  and 
spirit  of  the  time.  He  must  study  events  in 
their  bearings  near  and  remote ;  in  the  char 
acter,  habits,  and  manners  of  those  who  took 
part  in  them.  .  .  .  With  respect  to  that  spe 
cial  research  which,  if  inadequate,  is  still  in  the 


HISTORY  AND   FAME  249 

most  emphatic  sense  indispensable,  it  has  been 
the  writer's  aim  to  exhaust  the  existing  material 
of  every  subject  treated.  .  .  .  With  respect  to 
the  general  preparation,  ...  he  has  long  been 
too  fond  of  this  theme  to  neglect  any  means 
within  his  reach  of  making  his  conception  of  it 
distinct  and  true. 

For  the  second  volume,  "  The  Jesuits  in  North 
America,"  there  was  a  mass  of  materials,  as 
"  nearly  every  prominent  actor  left  his  own  re 
cord  of  events,"  and  all  the  documents  connected 
with  the  Jesuits  had  to  be  studied  and  compared. 
For  "  La  Salle  "  he  had  to  examine  volumes  of 
manuscript  drawn  from  the  public  archives  of 
France.  For  the  "  Old  Regime  "  the  story  is  very 
much  the  same.  For  "  Montcalm  and  Wolfe,"  be 
sides  books,  pamphlets,  brochures,  memoirs,  re 
ports,  documents,  and  all  the  multitudinous  forms 
of  print,  —  brevier,  long  primer,  small  pica,  not  to 
forget  Borgis,  nonpareille,  Garmond,  and  Cicero, 
and  all  the  other  outlandish  types  of  foreign 
lands,  —  six  thousand  folio  pages  of  manuscript 
had  been  copied  from  the  Archives  de  la  Marine 
et  des  Colonies,  the  Archives  de  la  Guerre,  and 
the  Archives  Nationales  at  Paris  ;  ten  volumes 
of  copies  had  been  made  from  the  Public  Record 
Office  and  the  British  Museum  in  London ;  and 
on  the  heels  of  these  he  had  to  listen  to  the  slow 
deciphering  of  cramped  writing,  crabbed  writing, 
hasty,  blotted,  blurred  writing,  faded  writing, 


250  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

unpunctuated  writing,  —  all  sorts  of  writing,  ab 
breviated  by  caprice  and  the  waywardest  fancy, 
naturally  bad,  worsened  by  time,  by  the  corrup 
tions  of  moth  and  dust,  and  all  the  foes  of  his 
tory.  So,  too,  it  was  for  the  "  Half  Century  of 
Conflict." 

In  the  upper  hall  of  the  house  of  the  Massa 
chusetts  Historical  Society  stands  a  large  wooden 
press,  —  a  bookcase  with  doors  ;  over  the  top  is 
carved  Parkman's  name.  Within  are  his  manu 
scripts,  given  by  him  to  the  Society.  They  not 
only  tell  of  all  the  work  he  did,  but  they  talk 
about  him,  and  boast  of  the  proud  and  affec 
tionate  interest  he  took  in  them.  There  the  vol 
umes  of  MSS.  stand  bound  in  their  bindings, 
differing  in  degree  according  to  size  and  dig 
nity.  There  are  the  early -gathered  "  Pontiac 
Miscellanies  "  in  big,  red,  shiny  leather,  with  gilt 
lettered  backs,  standing  eighteen  inches  high 
and  near  two  inches  thick,  —  neat  copies  of  docu 
ments  ;  one  volume  of  them,  of  less  elegant  cal 
ligraphy,  in  Parkman's  own  hand,  copied  from 
records  in  the  Maryland  Historical  Society  in 
1845.  Next  them  come  the  letters  of  Pedro  Me- 
nendez,  the  cruel  Spaniard  ;  and  following  him 
more  great  big  red  books,  copied  for  Francis 
Parkman,  Esq.,  by  Ben :  Perley  Poore,  Historical 
Agent  of  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts,  as 
the  frontispiece  recounts  in  pied  letters  of  great 


HISTORY  AND  FAME  251 

brilliancy.  Very  creditable  calligraphy  they 
are.  Then  follow  volumes  in  rows,  —  volumes 
of  "  Correspondance  Officiate,"  1621-1679  ;  vol 
umes  on  Acadia,  Isle  Royale,  Canada  ;  volumes 
of  documents  copied  from  the  Public  Record 
Office  in  London ;  volumes  of  Dinwiddie's  let 
ters,  —  these  last  in  green  leather,  in  self -satisfied 
distinction  from  their  fellows.  Then  other  vol 
umes,  English  and  French,  of  which  none  is  more 
interesting  than  the  "  Voyage  dans  le  Gulfe  de 
Mexique,"  written  by  La  Salle's  brother,  an  old 
manuscript  bought  at  a  sale  in  London  in  1857 
for  $48.50,  as  the  fly-leaf  says.  It  begins  :  — 

MONSEIGNEUR, —  Voicy  la  Relation  du  voy 
age  que  mon  f  rere  entreprit  pour  decouvrir  dans 
le  golfe  du  mexique,  Fembouchure  du  fleuve  de 
missisippy,  une  mort  inopinee  et  tragique  1'ayant 
empeche  de  le  parachever  et  d'en  rendre  Conte 
a  votre  grandeur,  j'espere  quelle  agreera  que  je 
suplee  a  son  defaut. 

In  the  days  of  Louis  XIV  even  death  was  a 
poor  excuse  for  not  fulfilling  the  punctilios  due 
the  king. 

Following  these  big  books  come  little  note 
books  of  Parkman's  own  keeping,  loose  sheets, 
letters,  journals,  little  parcels  of  papers  neatly 
tied  with  ribbon,  the  MSS.  of  one  or  two  of  the 
histories,  and  a  guerilla  band  of  those  enemies 
of  peace  and  order,  "  Sundry  documents." 


252  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

His  printed  books,  several  thousands,  were 
kept  in  his  study  on  the  third  story  of  No.  50 
Chestnut  Street ;  so  were  the  MSS.  before  they 
were  given  to  the  Historical  Society.  Up  in 
that  study  he  used  to  sit  all  the  winter  months, 
in  the  company  of  his  books  and  manuscripts, 
while  the  fire  from  the  open  stove  flickered  sal 
utations  to  the  shelves  opposite,  and  the  books 
stared  back  at  trophies  got  forty  years  before 
on  the  Oregon  trail,  —  bow,  arrows,  shield,  pipe 
of  peace,  hanging  tamely  on  the  wall ;  the  little 
bronze  cats  on  the  mantelpiece  played  undis 
mayed  beside  the  couchant  Barye  lioness,  em 
bodiment  of  the  eternal  struggle,  the  triumph 
of  the  strong,  the  ruin  of  the  weak ;  and  Sir 
Jeffrey  Amherst,  out  from  his  engraving  after 
Reynolds's  portrait,  his  head  resting  pensively 
on  one  hand,  careless  of  baton  and  helmet,  gazed 
ruminatingly  at  his  fellow  pictures,  prints  of  the 
"  Catterskills,"  of  the  ruins  of  Ticonderoga,  of 
Lake  George.  From  other  walls  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  a  lion,  and  a  cat  looked  gravely  at  Colonel 
Shaw,  Colleoni,  Diirer's  Knight  (a  favorite), 
and  at  the  facade  of  Notre  Dame ;  but  pictures 
had  no  great  liberty  of  place,  for  the  bookshelves 
spread  themselves  over  most  of  the  room. 

Parkman  used  to  sit  in  a  simple  easy-chair, 
his  feet  near  the  stove,  while  his  sister,  at  a  little 
table  beside  the  window,  wrote  at  his  dictation. 


HISTORY  AND   FAME  253 

But  when  his  work  was  over,  as  the  short  win 
ter  twilights  hurried  away,  his  thoughts  often 
must  have  wandered  back  over  the  forty  years 
spent  in  the  wilderness  of  physical  ills,  and  with 
his  jaw  set  firm,  but  with  his  kind  heart  un 
strung,  he  must  have  remembered  the  old  days 
of  boyhood,  of  health,  of  promise,  when  Nature, 
too,  was  young  and  beautiful  and  savage,  and 
perhaps  he  repeated  the  words  of  his  youth :  — 

Thus  to  look  back  with  a  fond  longing  to  inhos 
pitable  deserts,  where  men,  beasts,  and  Nature 
herself,  seem  arrayed  in  arms,  and  where  ease, 
security,  and  all  that  civilization  reckons  among 
the  goods  of  life,  are  alike  cut  off,  may  appear 
to  argue  some  strange  perversity,  and  yet  such 
has  been  the  experience  of  many  a  sound  and 
healthful  mind.  To  him  who  has  once  tasted 
the  reckless  independence,  the  haughty  self-reli 
ance,  the  sense  of  irresponsible  freedom,  which 
the  forest  life  engenders,  civilization  thenceforth 
seems  flat  and  stale.  Its  pleasures  are  insipid, 
its  pursuits  wearisome,  its  conventionalities,  du 
ties,  and  mutual  dependence,  alike  tedious  and 
disgusting.  .  .  .  The  wilderness,  rough,  harsh, 
and  inexorable,  has  charms  more  potent  in  their 
seductive  influence  than  all  the  lures  of  luxury 
and  sloth.  There  is  a  chord  in  the  hearts  of 
most  men,  prompt  to  answer  loudly  or  faintly, 
as  the  case  may  be,  to  such  rude  appeals.  But 
there  is  influence  of  another  sort,  strongest  with 
minds  of  the  finest  texture,  yet  sometimes  hold 
ing  a  controlling  power  over  those  who  neither 


254  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

acknowledge  nor  suspect  its  workings.  There 
are  so  few  imbruted  by  vice,  so  perverted  by  art 
and  luxury,  as  to  dwell  in  the  closest  presence 
of  Nature,  deaf  to  her  voice  of  melody  and 
power,  untouched  by  the  ennobling  influences 
which  mould  and  penetrate  the  heart  that  has 
not  hardened  itself  against  them.  Into  the  spirit 
of  such  an  one  the  mountain  wind  breathes  its 
own  freshness,  and  the  midsummer  tempest,  as 
it  rends  the  forest,  pours  its  own  fierce  energy. 
...  It  is  the  grand  and  heroic  in  the  hearts  of 
men  which  finds  its  worthiest  symbol  and  noblest 
aspiration  amid  these  desert  realms  —  in  the 
mountain  and  in  the  interminable  forest.1 

So  spake  the  lover  at  twenty-three,  in  the  lux 
uriant  exuberance  of  love  and  youth  ;  so  thought 
the  old  man,  thinking  of  his  mistress  whom  he 
had  not  seen  for  forty  years.  Perhaps  to  his 
thin  determined  lips  and  firm-set  jaw,  up  from 
his  modest  heart,  came  the  ancient  benedic 
tion,— 

Blessed  of  the  Lord  be  his  land, 

For  the  precious  things  of  heaven,  for  the  dew, 

And  for  the  chief  things  of  the  ancient  mountains, 

And  for  the  precious  things  of  the  lasting  hills, 

And  for  the  precious  things  of  the  earth  and  fulness 

thereof, 
And  for  the  good  will  of  him  that  dwelt  in  the  bush. 

As  I  have  said,  his  reputation  increased  as 
the  series  advanced,  and  on  the  publication  of 
"  Montcalm  and  Wolfe  "  he  reached  the  height 
1  Pontiac,  vol.  ii.  pp.  237-239. 


HISTORY  AND   FAME  255 

of  his  fame;  this  book  he  and  the  world  re 
garded  as  his  best.  He  could  then  feel  that, 
even  should  he  not  fill  in  the  intervening  half 
century  between  Frontenac  and  Montcalm,  his 
work  had  been  in  substance  done,  that  his  en 
durance  had  overcome  its  enemies.  He  enjoyed 
applause,  not  so  much  that  of  the  public  —  for 
he  had  a  smack  of  Coriolanus's  opinion  on  the 
"  raskell  many  "  —  as  that  of  men  whose  judg 
ment  was  trained  and  instructed,  and  whose 
speech  was  measured. 

MR.  HENRY   ADAMS   TO    PARKMAN. 

[WASHINGTON],  21  December,  1884. 

MY  DEAR  PARKMAN,  —  Your  two  volumes  on 
Montcalm  and  Wolfe  deserve  much  more  care 
ful  study  than  I  am  competent  to  give  them, 
and  so  far  as  I  can  see,  you  have  so  thoroughly 
exhausted  your  sources  as  to  leave  little  or 
nothing  new  to  be  said.  The  book  puts  you  in 
the  front  rank  of  living  English  historians,  and 
I  regret  only  that  the  field  is  self-limited  so  that 
you  can  cultivate  it  no  further.  Your  book 
is  a  model  of  thorough  and  impartial  study  and 
clear  statement.  Of  its  style  and  narrative  the 
highest  praise  is  that  they  are  on  a  level  with  its 
thoroughness  of  study.  Taken  as  a  whole,  your 
works  are  now  dignified  by  proportions  and  com 
pleteness  which  can  be  hardly  paralleled  by  the 
"  literary  baggage  "  of  any  other  historical  writer 
in  the  language  known  to  me  to-day.  .  .  . 

Ever  truly  y'rs,  HENRY  ADAMS. 


256  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

MR.  E.  L.  GODKIN   TO   PARKMAN. 

[NEW  YORK],  Dec.  14,  1885. 

MY  DEAR  PARKMAN,  —  I  have  just  finished 
your  u  Wolfe  and  Montcalm,"  and  I  cannot  help 
doing  what  I  have  never  done  before  —  write  to 
tell  the  author  with  what  delight  I  read  it.  I  do 
not  think  I  have  ever  been  so  much  enchained 
by  a  historical  book,  although  I  was  passionately 
fond  of  history  in  rny  boyhood.  Wolfe,  too,  was 
one  of  my  earliest  heroes,  and  although  I  have 
been  familiar  for  over  forty  years  with  his  story, 
I  became  almost  tremulous  with  anxiety  about 
the  result  of  the  night  attack  when  reading  your 
account  of  the  final  preparations,  a  few  evenings 
ago. 

What  became  of  Montcalm's  family  ?  Has  he 
any  descendants  now?  What  a  pathetic  tale 
his  is ! 

.  .  .  Thank  you  most  sincerely  for  a  great 
pleasure.  Yours  very  sincerely, 

E.  L.  GODKIN. 

A  later  letter,  1887,  characteristically  says : 
"I  hope  you  are  well  and  busy.  No  one  else 
does  nearly  as  much  for  American  literature. 
This  is  i  gospel  truth.'  " 

MR.  HEXRY   JAMES   TO    PARKMAN. 

DOVER,  [ENGLAND],  August  24th,  [1885]. 
MY  DEAR  PARKMAN,  —  This  is  only  three 
lines,  because  I  cannot  hold  my  hand  from  tell 
ing  you,  as  other  people  must  have  done  to  your 
final  weariness,  with  what  high  appreciation  and 
genuine  gratitude  I  have  been  reading  your 


HISTORY  AND  FAME  257 

"  Wolfe  and  Montcalm."  (You  see  I  am  still  so 
overturned  by  my  emotion  that  I  can't  even 
write  the  name  straight.)  I  have  found  the  right 
time  to  read  it  only  during  the  last  fortnight, 
and  it  has  fascinated  me  from  the  first  page  to 
the  last.  You  know,  of  course,  much  better  than 
any  one  else  how  good  it  is,  but  it  may  not  be 
absolutely  intolerable  to  you  to  learn  how  good 
still  another  reader  thinks  it.  The  manner  in 
which  you  have  treated  the  prodigious  theme  is 
worthy  of  the  theme  itself,  and  that  says  every 
thing.  It  is  truly  a  noble  book,  my  dear  Park- 
man,  and  you  must  let  me  congratulate  you, 
with  the  heartiest  friendliness,  on  having  given 
it  to  the  world.  So  be  as  proud  as  possible  of 
being  the  author  of  it,  and  let  your  friends  be 
almost  as  proud  of  possessing  his  acquaintance. 
Reading  it  here  by  the  summer  smooth  channel 
with  the  gleaming  French  coast,  from  my  win 
dows,  looking  on  some  clear  days  only  five  miles 
distant,  and  the  guns  of  old  England  pointed  sea 
ward,  from  the  rambling,  historic  castle,  perched 
above  me  upon  the  downs ;  reading  it,  I  say, 
among  these  influences,  it  has  stirred  all  sorts 
of  feelings  —  none  of  them,  however,  incompat 
ible  with  a  great  satisfaction  that  the  American 
land  should  have  the  credit  of  a  production  so 
solid  and  so  artistic.  .  .  .  Believe  in  the  per 
sonal  gratitude  of  yours,  ever  very  faithfully, 

H.  JAMES. 

MB.  JAMES    RUSSELL    LOWELL   TO    PARKMAN. 
31,  LOWNDES  SQUARE,  [LONDON],  S.  W.,  8th  Deer.,  1884. 
DEAR  PARKMAN,  —  I  have  just  done  reading 
your  book,  and  write  a  line  to  thank  you  for 


258  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

what  has  been  so  great  a  pleasure.  It  went  as 
delightfully  as  floating  down  one  of  the  forest 
streams  where  your  scene  is  laid.  You  have  done 
nothing  better,  and  you  know  how  I  liked  the 
others.  Faithfully  yours, 

J.  R.  LOWELL. 

MB.  GEORGE   BANCROFT   TO    PARKMAN. 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C.,  28  Nov.,  1884. 
DEAR  MR.  PARKMAN,  —  I  am  delighted  at 
receiving  from  you  under  your  own  hand  these 
two  new  volumes  with  which  you  delight  your 
friends  and  instruct  readers  in  both  worlds. 
You  belong  so  thoroughly  to  the  same  course  of 
life  which  I  have  chosen  that  I  follow  your 
career  as  a  fellow  soldier,  striving  to  promote 
the  noblest  ends,  and  I  take  delight  in  your 
honors  as  much  or  more  than  I  should  my  own. 
You  have  just  everything  which  go  to  make  an 
historian  —  persistency  in  collecting  materials, 
indefatigable  industry  in  using  them,  swift  dis 
cernment  of  the  truth,  integrity  and  intrepidity 
in  giving  utterance  to  truth,  a  kindly  human 
ity  which  is  essential  to  the  true  historian,  and 
which  gives  the  key  to  all  hearts,  and  a  clear  and 
graceful  and  glowing  manner  of  narration.  I 
claim  like  yourself  to  have  been  employed  ear 
nestly,  and  pray  you  to  hold  me  to  be  in  all  sin 
cerity  and  affectionate  regard, 

Your  fellow  laborer  and  friend, 

GEO.  BANCROFT. 

Mr.  Henry  Cabot  Lodge  dedicated  his  "  His 
torical  and  Political   Essays "  to  Parkman,  - 


HISTORY  AND  FAME  259 

"To  Francis  Parkman,  in  token  of  admiration 
for  his  great  work  as  an  American  historian  and 
for  his  character  as  a  man  "  —  and  at  the  time 
wrote  this  letter :  — 

Nov.  llth,  [1892]. 

DEAR  MR.  PARKMAN,  —  I  send  herewith  a 
little  volume  of  essays,  which  I  have  taken  the 
liberty  and  given  myself  the  great  pleasure  of 
dedicating  to  you.  ...  I  should  have  liked  to 
have  had  time  to  write  an  article  on  the  com 
pletion  of  your  history,  but  politics  have  so  en 
grossed  me  of  late  that  literature  has  gone  to 
the  wall.  But  I  wished  in  some  public  fashion 
to  express  the  great  admiration  I  feel  for  your 
writings  and  for  your  services  to  American  his 
tory,  and  also  for  the  character,  courage,  and 
will  which  have  enabled  you  to  do  such  work 
despite  the  obstacles  with  which  you  contended 
and  which  you  have  so  entirely  overcome.  May 
I  add  that  I  also  wished  to  express  my  very 
strong  personal  regard  for  you.  The  dedication 
cannot  possibly  give  you  the  pleasure  that  it 
gives  me,  but  I  venture  to  hope  that  you  will 
accept  it.  Sincerely  y'rs, 

H.  C.  LODGE. 

Mr.  Theodore  Roosevelt  dedicated  "  The  Win 
ning  of  the  West "  to  Parkman,  having  first  writ 
ten  this  letter  to  ask  permission  :  — 

OYSTER  BAY,  LONG  ISLAND,  N.  Y., 
April  23d,  '88. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  suppose  that  every  Ameri 
can  who  cares  at  all  for  the  history  of  his  own 


260  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

country  feels  a  certain  personal  pride  in  your 
work  —  it  is  as  if  Motley  had  written  about 
American  instead  of  European  subjects,  and  so 
was  doubly  our  own ;  but  those  of  us  who  have 
a  taste  for  history,  and  yet  have  spent  much  of 
our  time  on  the  frontier,  perhaps  realize  even 
more  keenly  than  our  fellows  that  your  works 
stand  alone,  and  that  they  must  be  models  for 
all  historical  treatment  of  the  founding  of  new 
communities  and  the  growth  of  the  frontier  here 
in  the  wilderness.  This  —  even  more  than  the 
many  pleasant  hours  I  owe  you  —  must  be  my 
excuse  for  writing. 

I  am  engaged  on  a  work  of  which  the  first 
part  treats  of  the  extension  of  our  frontier  west 
ward  and  southwestward  during  the  twenty  odd 
years  from  1774  to  1796.  .  .  .  This  first  part  I 
have  promised  the  Putnams  for  some  time  in 
1889  ;  it  will  be  in  two  volumes,  with  some  such 
title  as  "  The  Winning  of  the  West  and  South 
west."  .  .  . 

I  should  like  to  dedicate  this  to  you.  Of  course 
I  know  that  you  would  not  wish  your  name  to  be 
connected,  in  even  the  most  indirect  way,  with 
any  but  good  work  ;  and  I  can  only  say,  that  I 
will  do  my  best  to  make  the  work  creditable.  .  .  . 
Yours  very  truly, 

THEODORE  ROOSEVELT. 

MR.  JUSTIN  WINSOR  TO  PARKMAN. 

CAMBRIDGE,  May  23,  '92. 

DEAR  PARKMAN,  — ...  I  read  your  "  Pon- 
tiac"  when  I  was  in  college,  and  I  have  not  failed 
to  read  each  succeeding  work  of  yours  upon  its 


HISTORY  AND  FAME  261 

publication.  In  the  last  ten  years  I  have  seldom 
had  them  off  my  study  table,  for  work  I  have 
been  upon  has  often — almost  constantly — taken 
me  to  them  ;  and  always  with  increasing  admira 
tion.  Believe  me  faithfully  yours, 

JUSTIN  WINSOR. 

Just  before  his  death  he  was  invited  to  at 
tend  the  World's  Congress  of  Historians,  at 
the  World's  Fair,  in  Chicago,  as  "  The  Nestor 
and  most  beloved  of  American  Historians."  I 
cite  these  letters  because  scholars  say  that  "  no 
one  who  has  not  prosecuted  some  original  re 
search  on  the  same  lines  can  have  an  idea  of  the 
extreme  care  with  which  he  [Parkman]  worked, 
or  of  the  almost  petty  detail  which  he  was  at 
pains  to  master,  not  necessarily  to  use,  but  sim 
ply  to  inform  himself  thoroughly  of  the  circum 
stances  or  of  the  man  [of  which  or  whom  he 
was  writing]."  For  though  he  always  wished  to 
make  his  books  delightful  to  read,  he  never  used 
his  imagination  except  as  a  means  to  discover 
and  to  combine  the  jots  and  tittles  of  accurate 
detail. 

There  were  also  tributes  from  persons  less 
well  known. 

HON.  FRANCIS  PARKMAN  : 

Dear  Sir,  —  Hoping  and  begging,  I  write 
you  asking  you  if  you  will  be  so  very  kind  as  to 
give  me  your  "  autograph  "  —  please  may  I  have 


262  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

it?  I  would  feel  most  highly  honored  to  receive 
and  love  dearly  to  possess  your  autograph.  And 
if  it  is  pleasing  to  you,  Dear  Sir !  to  favor  me 
with  a  line  or  favorite  sentiment  —  I  will  ever 
be  most  grateful  for  your  exquisite  kindness 
—  for  it  will  be  to  me  a  "  precious  souvenir " 
of  a  "  Divinely  gifted  and  most  illustrious .  gen 
tleman"  whose  name  is  dearly  familiar  and 
whose  "  noble  researches  "  and  "grand  and  bril 
liant  "  Historical  writings  which  ever  charm  and 
enlighten  the  world  —  have  endeared  you  to 
all  hearts,  as  the  most  "  famous  and  brilliantly 
gifted  Historian  of  the  world."  .  .  . 

To  HON.  FRANCIS  PARKMAN,  "  Author,"  "  King  of  His 
torians." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

CANADA   AND   CANADIAN   FRIENDS 


PARKMAN'S  history  is  in  substance  a  history  of 
Canada,  and  in  that  country  aroused  great  inter 
est  and  admiration  and  also  some  dissatisfaction 
and  dissent.  Canadians  almost  unanimously  ac 
knowledged  that  Canada  was  greatly  indebted  to 
him  for  fame  and  honor :  for,  before  Parkman 
wrote,  on  the  south  side  of  the  border  there  was 
little  information  and  much  prejudice  in  regard 
to  the  past  of  our  northern  neighbor ;  in  Eng 
land  there  were  but  hazy  ideas  of  an  uninterest 
ing  agricultural  province,  momentarily  illumi 
nated  by  the  exploit  of  an  Englishman  on  the 
Plains  of  Abraham ;  and  in  France,  Canada  was 
but  a  vague  and  mortifying  memory.  English- 
speakers  did  not  read  the  books  of  French  Cana 
dians,  and  for  them  Parkman  put  the  history  of 
Canada  on  a  level  of  interest  and  importance 
equal  to  that,  as  statesmen  say,  of  the  most 
favored  nation ;  before  him,  there  was  a  history 
in  English  by  William  Smith,  and  the  extent  to 
which  Mr.  William  Smith's  history  failed  to 


264  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

dispel  the  general  darkness  of  ignorance  holds 
out  a  measure  by  which  we  can  judge  what 
Parkman  did  for  Canada. 

The  criticism  which  he  received,  sometimes 
bitter,  came  from  French  Canadians,  not  wholly 
able  to  forget  that  they  represented  a  fallen 
cause ;  they  had  remained  loyal  to  that  cause, 
with  the  loyalty  that  forgets  defects  and  enhances 
virtues.  The  lost  cause  was  not  only  that  of  a 
nation,  charming  even  to  those  whose  birth  and 
breeding  cut  them  off  from  full  appreciation,  but 
also  that  of  a  church,  sacred  with  all  the  affec 
tion  that  men  cherish  for  their  mothers.  They 
could  not  enjoy  the  story  which  told  how  that 
nation  and  that  church  had  been  vanquished  by 
their  common  foe,  and,  as  the  story  was  told, 
justly  vanquished  ;  for  the  teller,  despite  gener 
ous  and  impartial  sympathy,  believed  that  the 
side  upon  which  the  right  on  the  whole  prepon 
derated  had  prevailed.  That  the  victory  had 
been  deserved  was,  in  Parkman's  judgment,  the 
verdict  of  history ;  but  what  man  is  there,  who 
belongs  to  the  side  which  has  lost,  who  can  pa 
tiently  endure  to  hear  Rhadamanthus  say,  "  You 
have  received  your  deserts."  Thus  there  was 
some  feeling  against  Parkman,  and  when  in 
1878  some  of  the  gentlemen  of  Laval  Univer 
sity,  the  distinguished  Catholic  university  at 
Quebec,  wishing  to  honor  him,  even  if  in  their 


CANADA  AND   CANADIAN  FKIENDS     265 

judgment  sometimes  astray,  proposed  that  the 
university  should  confer  the  degree  of  Doctor  of 
Letters  upon  him,  there  was  warm  opposition. 
Hot  words  were  spoken,  strong  feelings  were 
strongly  expressed  ;  the  conservatives  carried  the 
day,  and  the  degree  was  denied.  On  the  other 
hand,  in  the  following  year,  the  English  univer 
sity  at  Montreal,  McGill,  gave  him  the  degree 
of  Doctor  of  Laws.  He  was  also  chosen  hono 
rary  member  of  the  Literary  and  Historical  So 
ciety  of  Quebec,  and  a  corresponding  member  of 
the  Royal  Society  of  Canada. 

The  opposition  of  adverse  critics  troubled 
Parkman  very  little.  He  took  no  position  on  a 
matter  of  history  until  he  had  studied  it  with 
great  care,  and  with  all  the  impartiality  that  was 
possible. 

On  his  visits  to  Canada  Parkman  naturally 
visited  his  friends  and  not  his  critics,  and  from 
them  he  always  received  the  kindest  hospitality. 
Quebec,  as  the  historic  centre  of  Canada,  was 
his  headquarters,  and  there  he  had  very  warm 
friends ;  in  earlier  days  Judge  Black,  Judge  Stu 
art,  and  all  his  life  Sir  James  M.  Le  Moine,  the 
latter  a  man  of  letters  and  student  of  history, 
whose  country-seat,  Spencer  Grange,  is  not  far 
from  the  site  where  the  gallant  Levis  routed  Gen 
eral  Murray.  In  the  company  of  these  gentle 
men  Parkman  would  wander  over  the  battlefields 


266  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

from  Cap  Rouge  on  the  west  to  the  Falls  of 
Montmorency  on  the  east,  examining  the  historic 
spots,  such  as  Sillery,  a  little  village  on  the  north 
bank  of  the  river,  famous  as  possessing  the  oldest 
house  in  Canada,  and  in  the  brave  days  of  old 
crowned  with  a  French  battery.  Their  friendly 
commerce  was  fittingly  accompanied,  following 
the  best  Hellenic  traditions,  by  interchange  of 
gifts.  He  had  friendships,  too,  with  several 
French  Canadians,  gentlemen  of  Quebec,  who 
were  interested  in  Canadian  history.  Such  was 
M.  Hubert  La  Rue,  who  always  held  out  a  warm 
welcome:  "Rendez-vous  tout  droit  a  la  maison,  ou 
votre  petite  chambre  du  fonds  vous  attend  avec 
impatience."  He  made  a  friendly  acquaintance 
with  M.  Ferland,  Abbe  Laverdiere,  Dr.  J.  C. 
Tache,  and  other  scholars.  M.  N.  E.  Dionne,  now 
librarian  of  the  Parliamentary  Library  in  the 
Province  of  Quebec,  did  some  copying  for  Park- 
man  in  1871,  as  he  himself  tells,  in  English  so 
much  better  than  much  of  our  American-French, 
that  I  venture  to  quote  it :  "  Being  poor,  I  was 
glad  to  gain  some  dollars,  but  I  was  chiefly  proud 
to  accompany  this  well-known  Boston ian  through 
his  peregrinations  from  the  Seminary  to  the  epis 
copal  palace,  from  the  registrar  office  to  the  Ter 
rier's  office,  compulsing  together  every  document 
which  he  intended  to  use."  Parkman  was  well 
pleased  with  the  copies  ;  and  M.  Dionue,  himself 


CANADA   AND   CANADIAN   FRIENDS    267 

a  historian,  is  able  to  add,  "  So  that  I  must  say, 
and  everybody  can  say  so,  that  if  I  am  something 
to-day,  I  owe  this  to  Mr.  Parkman." 

Among  the  Catholic  clergy  he  had  many 
friendly  acquaintances.  M.  Audet,  chaplain  of 
the  Couvent  de  Jesus  et  Marie  de  Sillery,  intro 
duced  him  to  a  priest  at  Cape  Breton  in  these 
terms,  "  This  gentleman,  in  spite  of  the  difference 
of  faith,  has  shown  in  his  writings  great  justice 
in  his  estimate  of  the  deeds  of  Catholics  in  Can 
ada  ; "  and  to  another  thus,  "  This  gentleman, 
although  he  does  not  share  our  faith,  has  in  all 
his  writings  taken  pains  to  give  the  most  just 
and  favorable  testimony  to  the  work  of  Catholi 
cism  in  Canada." 

Parkman's  chief  correspondence  and  most  fa 
miliar  intercourse  were  with  M.  1'Abbe  H.  R. 
Casgrain,  the  distinguished  historian  of  Canada. 
The  two  were  good  friends  for  some  twenty-eight 
years ;  M.  F Abbe,  then  a  professor  in  the  univer 
sity,  was  the  chief  combatant  on  Parkman's  side 
in  the  battle  royal  over  the  Laval  degree ;  the 
friendship  had  begun  by  an  interchange  of  let 
ters  in  1866,  for  the  Muse  of  History,  taking 
each  by  the  hand,  had  brought  them  together. 
Parkman  wished  to  subscribe  to  a  Canadian  re 
view,  "Le  Foyer  Canadien."  Abbe  Casgrain, 
secretary  to  the  board  of  publication,  hearing  of 
this  wish,  presented  him  with  all  the  back  num- 


268  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

bers,  for,  as  the  French  know  better  than  the 
rest  of  us,  "  little  gifts  make  great  friendships." 
The  Abbe  was  a  descendant  of  M.  Baby,  "  a 
prominent  habitant,"  who  lived  across  the  river 
from  Detroit  at  the  time  of  Pontiac's  attack,  and 
by  his  good  offices  rendered  the  hard-pressed  gar 
rison  great  service  ; l  this  ancestry  made  a  natu 
ral  tie  between  the  two  historians.  They  had 
another  bond,  for  the  Abbe  was  afflicted  with 
a  partial  blindness  that  prevented  him  from 
reading  or  writing.  Between  them  there  was 
an  interchange  of  maps  and  documents  and  of 
photographs.  The  little  incidents  of  history,  the 
tassels  and  ornaments  of  narrative,  made  their 
intercourse  very  agreeable.  For  example,  Abbe 
Casgrain  brought  together  careful  documentary 
evidence  that  Cham  plain's  tomb  had  been  erected 
on  the  spot  now  occupied  by  the  post-office,  near 
the  Chateau  Frontenac,  —  a  feat  that  aroused 
jealousy  and  disbelief  in  other  antiquarians.  On 
this  occasion  Parkman  wrote,  "A  friend  in  Mon 
treal  sent  me  a  newspaper  with  a  notice  of  your 
great  discovery.  I  have  long  hoped  that  some 
thing  might  be  brought  to  light  on  this  point, 
and  wait  with  interest  to  hear  more."  Then  fol 
lows  another  letter,  disputing  the  Abbe's  opinion 
that  Brebeuf  —  the  noble  Jesuit  —  should  not 
have  an  accent  on  the  first  syllable  of  his  name, 
1  Pontiac,  vol.  i.  p.  248. 


CANADA  AND   CANADIAN   FRIENDS    269 

ending,  "  I  hope  soon  to  hear  that  Champlain's 
bones  are  found." 

Then  Parkman  sends  a  copy  of  "The  Jesuits 
in  North  America." 

BOSTON,  Jan.  30,  1868. 

If  you  are  not  in  Quebec,  it  will  no  doubt  await 
your  return.  Remembering  that  I  am  a  heretic, 
you  will  expect  a  good  deal  with  which  you  will 
be  very  far  from  agreeing.  The  truth  is,  I  am  a 
little  surprised  that  neither  Catholics  nor  Pro 
testants  have  been  very  severe  in  their  strictures 
on  the  book.  I  fully  expected  to  be  attacked  by 
both  —  that  is  by  the  Calvinistic  portion  of  Pro 
testants.  I  believe  both  sides  saw  that  I  meant 
to  give  a  candid  view  of  my  subject  in  the  best 
light  in  which  I  could  see  it. 

SAME   TO   SAME. 

BOSTON,  Feb.  13,  1868. 

MY  DEAR  ABBE,  —  Many  thanks  for  your 
most  kind  and  welcome  letter.  I  am  truly  glad 
that,  as  a  man  of  letters  and  as  a  Catholic  priest, 
you  can  find  so  much  to  approve  in  my  book, 
and  I  set  an  especial  value  on  your  commenda 
tion.  We  are,  as  you  say,  at  opposite  poles  of 
faith  —  but  my  faith,  such  as  it  is,  is  strong  and 
earnest,  and  I  have  the  deepest  respect  for  the 
heroic  self-devotion,  the  true  charity,  of  the  early 
Jesuits  of  Canada.  .  .  . 

Believe  me  ever,  with  great  esteem, 
Your  friend  and  servant, 

F.  PARKMAN. 


270  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

SAME   TO   SAME. 

50  CHESTNUT  ST.,  BOSTON,  10  April,  '71. 
My  DEAR  ABBE,  —  Many  thanks  for  your 
most  friendly  and  obliging  letter,  and  for  the 
books  which  accompanied  it.  I  regret  to  hear  that 
your  eyes  still  give  you  so  much  trouble  ;  a  mat 
ter  in  which  I  can  wholly  sympathize  with  you, 
my  own  having  been  useless  for  ten  years  or 
more,  and  even  now  permitting  me  to  write  or 
read  only  for  a  few  minutes  at  one  time. 

Soon  after  this  the  Abbe  went  to  Boston  and 
paid  Parkman  a  visit  at  his  country  home  by 
Jamaica  Pond.  The  Abbe*  says,  "  Les  politesses 
exquises  dont  je  fus  1'objet  de  sa  part  et  de  celle 
de  sa  famille  ont  laisse*  en  moi  des  souvenirs  qui 
ne  sont  pas  effaces  ; "  and  Parkman  wrote  :  "  I 
recall  your  visit  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  and 
congratulate  myself  that  after  so  long  an  inter 
val  I  have  at  last  the  good  fortune  to  know  you 
personally."  The  visit  was  short,  but  Parkman 
took  the  Abbe  to  see  Harvard  College,  Mr. 
Agassiz,  and  Mr.  Longfellow,  whose  long  white 
beard,  falling  over  his  chest,  recalled  to  the  Abbd 
the  ancient  seers  and  poets,  "  Ossian,  Baruch,  or 
Camoens." 

One  consequence  of  this  visit  was  the  little 
book,  "  Francis  Parkman,  par  1'Abbe*  H.  R. 
Casgrain,"  published  in  1872,  which  is  full  of 
admiration,  of  compliments,  and  yet  speaks  out 
frankly  the  author's  divergent  views. 


CANADA  AND  CANADIAN  FRIENDS    271 

We  have  enlarged  as  far  as  possible  the  place 
of  praise,  in  order  to  accord  to  Truth  all  its  rights, 
to  criticism  elbow-room.  Let  us  say,  without 
beating  about  the  bush,  .  .  .  Mr.  Parkman's 
work  is  the  negation  of  all  religious  belief.  The 
author  rejects  the  Protestant  theory  as  well  as 
Catholic  dogma  ;  he  is  an  out-and-out  rationalist. 
We  perceive  an  upright  soul,  born  for  the  truth, 
but  lost  without  a  compass  on  a  boundless  sea. 
Hence  these  aspirations  towards  the  true,  these 
flashes  of  acknowledgment,  these  words  of  hom 
age  to  the  truth,  followed,  alas,  by  strange  fall 
ings  off,  by  fits  of  fanaticism  that  are  astound 
ing. 

The  Abbe*  sent  Parkman  the  proofs  of  this 
little  book  before  publication. 

PARKMAN   TO   CASGRAIN. 

BOSTON,  Jan.  26, 1872. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  The  proofs  came  yester 
day.  I  think  you  know  me  too  well  to  doubt  that 
I  accept  your  criticism  as  frankly  as  it  is  given, 
and  that  I  always  listen  with  interest  and  satis 
faction  to  the  comments  of  so  kind  and  generous 
an  opponent.  I  only  wonder  that,  in  the  oppo 
sition  of  our  views  on  many  points  of  profound 
importance,  you  can  find  so  much  to  commend. 
When  you  credit  me  with  loyalty  and  honor,  you 
give  me  the  praise  that  I  value  most  of  all. 

In  all  that  you  say  of  my  books  and  of  myself 
I  recognize  a  warmth  of  personal  regard  which 
would  lead  me  to  distrust  your  praises  but  for 
the  manifest  candor  and  sincerity  which  pervade 


272  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

your  praise  and  blame  alike.  I  need  not  say  that 
I  am  extremely  gratified  by  the  one ;  and  as  for 
the  other,  I  gladly  accept  it.  I  know  what  your 
views  are.  You  have  spoken  them  openly,  but 
very  kindly.  As  a  Catholic  you  could  not  have 
said  less,  and  you  might  have  said  more. 

I  wish  you  were  not  in  error  when  you  say 
that  I  am  about  finishing  my  present  task.  A 
very  long  road  is  still  before  me.  The  subject 
is  complicated  and  difficult,  and  the  time  I  can 
give  to  it  each  day  is  short,  both  from  other 
deviations  and  the  state  of  my  health,  which  often 
makes  study  out  of  the  question.  According  to 
the  "  medical  faculty,"  as  the  newspapers  say, 
the  trouble  comes  from  an  abnormal  state  or 
partial  paralysis  of  certain  arteries  of  the  brain. 
Whatever  it  is,  it  is  a  nuisance  of  the  first  order, 
and  a  school  of  patience  by  which  Job  himself 
might  have  profited.  However,  Providence  per 
mitting,  I  will  spite  the  devil  yet. 

Very  sincerely  and  cordially  yours, 

F.  PARKMAN. 

SAME   TO   SAME. 

BOSTON,  17  Nov.,  '72. 

I  have  just  returned  [from  a  trip  to  France]. 
I  have  brought  home  a  large  collection  of  doc 
uments.  More  are  to  follow,  to  the  amount  of 
about  2500  folio  pages.  So  you  see,  I  did  not 
lose  my  time. 

Let  me  correct  what  seems  a  mistaken  im 
pression.  In  your  critique  of  Chauveau  you 
speak  of  dures  verites  which  you  uttered  in  re 
gard  to  my  books,  and  for  which  I  thanked  you 


CANADA  AND   CANADIAN  FRIENDS    273 

and  still  thank  }rou.  But  this  is  because  I  like 
frank  and  outspoken  criticism,  when  kindly  ut 
tered,  not  because  I  recognize  as  verites  the 
strictures  passed  upon  me.  While  esteeming  my 
critic,  I  still  believe  myself  in  the  right. 

[May  23, 1873.] 

Of  one  thing  I  beg  you  to  be  entirely  assured, 
and  that  is  that  your  article  in  the  "  Revue " 
[criticising  Parkman]  has  not  in  the  slightest 
degree  affected  the  cordial  regard  which  I  enter 
tain  for  you.  I  knew  that  you  wrote  it  with 
pain  and  regret,  in  obedience  to  a  sense  of  duty ; 
and  besides,  I  believe  that  when  I  feel  confident 
in  my  position  I  am  not  very  sensitive  to  criti 
cism. 

After  this,  Parkman  made  a  return  visit  to 
the  Abbe,  at  the  Maison  d'Airvault,  the  latter's 
family  place  at  Riviere  Ouelle,  a  village  on  the 
south  bank  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  opposite  the 
mouth  of  the  Murray  River.  Here  Parkman  not 
merely  had  the  pleasure  of  the  society  of  his 
host  and  his  host's  family,  but  became  familiar 
with  a  little  village  not  so  very  different  from 
what  it  had  been  when  the  fleur-de-lis  floated 
over  the  citadel  of  Quebec.  Correspondence  was 
taken  up  again  as  before.  M.  FAbbe  wrote  a 
review  of  the  "  Old  Regime,"  in  which  he  found 
sundry  expressions  of  opinion  that  did  not  co 
incide  with  his  own. 


274  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

PARKMAN   TO   CASGRAIN. 

JAMAICA  PLAIN,  9  May,  1875. 

MON  CHER  AMI,  —  I  have  read  your  article 
on  the  Old  Regime  with  attention  and  inter 
est.  It  is  very  much  what  I  had  expected,  know 
ing  your  views  and  the  ardor  with  which  you 
embrace  them,  as  well  as  the  warmth  and  kind 
liness  of  your  feelings.  I  could  take  issue 
squarely  on  the  principal  points  you  make,  but 
it  would  make  this  letter  too  long,  and  I  do  not 
care  to  enter  into  discussion  with  a  personal 
friend  on  matters  which  he  has  so  much  at  heart. 
Moreover,  I  wish  to  preserve  an  entirely  judicial, 
and  not  controversial  frame  of  mind  on  all  that 
relates  to  Canadian  matters.  Let  me  set  you 
right,  however,  on  one  or  two  points  personal  to 
myself.  My  acquaintance  here  would  smile  to 
hear  me  declared  an  advocate  of  democracy  and 
a  lover  of  the  puritans.  I  have  always  declared 
openly  my  detestation  of  the  unchecked  rule  of 
the  masses,  that  is  to  say,  of  universal  suffrage, 
and  the  corruption  which  is  sure  to  follow  in 
every  large  and  heterogeneous  community.  I 
have  also  always  declared  a  very  cordial  dislike 
of  puritanism.  I  recognize  some  most  respecta 
ble  and  valuable  qualities  in  the  settlers  of  New 
England,  but  do  not  think  them  or  their  system 
to  be  praised  without  great  qualifications,  and  I 
would  not  spare  criticism,  if  I  had  to  write  about 
them.  Nor  am  I  at  all  an  enthusiast  for  the  nine 
teenth  century,  many  of  the  tendencies  of  which 
I  deplore,  while  admiring  much  that  it  has  ac 
complished.  It  is  too  democratic,  and  too  much 
given  to  the  pursuit  of  material  interests  at  the 


CANADA  AND   CANADIAN  FRIENDS    275 

expense  of  intellectual  and  moral  greatness, 
which  I  hold  to  be  the  true  end,  —  to  which 
material  progress  should  be  but  a  means. 

My  political  faith  lies  between  two  vicious  ex 
tremes,  democracy  and  absolute  authority,  each 
of  which  I  detest  the  more  because  it  tends  to 
react  into  the  other.  I  do  not  object  to  a  good 
constitutional  monarchy,  but  prefer  a  conserva 
tive  republic,  where  intelligence  and  character, 
and  not  numbers,  hold  the  reins  of  power. 

I  could  also  point  out  a  good  many  other  mis 
takes  in  your  article.  You  say  that  I  see  Cana 
dian  defects  through  a  microscope,  and  merits 
through  a  diminishing  glass.  The  truth  is,  I  have 
suppressed  a  considerable  number  of  statements 
and  observations  because  I  thought  that  while 
they  would  give  pain,  they  were  not  absolutely 
necessary  to  the  illustration  of  the  subject ;  but 
I  have  invariably  given  every  favorable  testimony 
I  could  find  in  any  authentic  quarter.  .  .  . 
Very  cordially  yours, 

Y'  PARKMAN. 

SAME   TO   SAME. 

Nov.  2,  1878. 

Did  you  get  an  attack  on  the  sovereign  Demos, 
which  I  sent  you  ?  It  has  drawn  on  me  a  great 
deal  of  barking  and  growling,  and  caused  me  to 
be  branded  as  "  audacious,"  a  "  foe  to  popular 
government "  etc.,  —  so  you  see  I  am  shot  at 
from  both  sides  of  the  line.  The  article  in  ques 
tion,  however,  has  been  very  widely  read,  and 
has  received  a  great  deal  of  approval  as  well  as 
denunciation. 


276  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

The  following  extract  relates  to  the  degree 
which  his  friends  sought  to  obtain  for  him  from 
Laval  University. 

Dec.  10,  1878. 

This  outbreak  is  a  very  curious  one.  So  far 
as  I  myself  am  concerned,  I  find  it  rather  amus 
ing,  and  am  not  annoyed  by  it  in  the  least.  But 
I  regret  it  extremely  on  account  of  the  trouble 
it  has  given  you  and  Mr.  Le  Moine ;  and  also  on 
account  of  the  embarrassing  position  in  which  I 
fear  that  it  places  the  University  and  the  excel 
lent  ecclesiastics  by  whom  it  is  directed.  It  was 
to  me  extremely  gratifying  that  men  like  these, 
while  differing  profoundly  from  me  and  disap 
proving  much  that  I  have  written,  should  recog 
nize  the  sincerity  of  my  work  by  expressing  their 
intention  to  honor  me  with  a  degree  of  Docteur 
es  Lettres.  It  was  this  generous  recognition 
which  gave  me  particular  pleasure ;  and  greatly 
as  I  should  feel  honored  by  a  degree  from  Laval 
University,  I  prize  still  more  the  proofs  of  esteem 
which  its  directors  have  already  given  me.  I 
trust  that  they  will  not  feel  themselves  com 
mitted  to  any  course  which  circumstances  may 
have  rendered  inexpedient,  and  that  they  will  be 
guided  simply  by  the  interests  of  the  University. 

Thus  the  correspondence  went  along,  touch 
ing  on  Parkman's  gleanings  in  the  archives  of 
Paris,  on  the  Abbess  antiquarian  discoveries,  on 
history,  on  friends,  on  other  matters  unimportant, 
except  in  the  respect  most  important  of  all,  evi 
dence  of  good  hearts  and  good  friendship.  Most 


CANADA  AND   CANADIAN  FRIENDS    277 

of  the  Abba's  letters  unfortunately  have  been 
lost  or  destroyed ;  Parkman's  continue  "till  the 
year  before  his  death ;  but  the  last  of  his  that 
shall  be  quoted  concerns  his  health,  in  answer  to 
inquiries  of  affectionate  interest. 

JAMAICA  PLAIN,  12  May,  1889. 
MON  CHER  ABBE,  —  For  the  past  five  years  I 
have  done  very  little  historical  work,  not  so 
much  from  laziness  as  from  the  effects  of  insom 
nia.  Two  or  three  hours  of  sleep  in  the  24  — 
which  have  been  until  lately  my  average  allow 
ance  for  long  periods  together  —  are  not  enough 
to  wind  up  the  human  machine,  especially  when 
exercise  is  abridged  by  hereditary  gout  mixed 
with  rheumatism,  produced,  according  to  the 
doctors,  by  numerous  drenchings  in  the  forests 
of  Maine  when  I  was  a  collegian  (e.  g.  on  one 
occasion,  rain  without  shelter  for  three  days  and 
nights,  just  after  being  wrecked  in  a  rapid  of 
the  River  Margalloway).  Perhaps,  however,  the 
rheumatism  is  a  stroke  of  retributive  justice  for 
writing  "  Montcalm  and  Wolfe."  Though  I  have 
slept  better  in  the  past  year,  it  is  still  an  open 
question  whether  I  shall  ever  manage  to  supply 
the  missing  link  between  that  objectionable  work 
and  its  predecessor  "  Count  Frontenac."  .  .  . 
Que  Dieu  vous  aide  — 

Tout-a-vous. 

We  cannot  suppose  that  two  historians  of  di 
vergent  views  corresponded  on  such  hotspur  top 
ics  as  the  peasants  of  Acadia,  the  rival  merits  of 


278  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Montcalm  and  Le*vis,  or  the  character  of  Vau- 
dreuil,  not  to  mention  nationality  and  religion, 
without  one  or  the  other  catching  fire  and  flam 
ing  up  till  the  "  rash  bavin  "  cause  was  burned 
out,  and  old  friendship  returned  to  its  old  ways. 
But  certainly  there  was  no  trace  of  jangling 
towards  the  end ;  the  melody  of  friendship  was 
altogether  pleasant. 

CASGRAIN  TO  PARKMAN  [translated]. 

QUEBEC,  May  23d,  1892. 

MY  DEAR  HISTORIAN, — I  make  haste  to  thank 
you  for  the  present  of  your  two  handsome  vol 
umes,  "  A  Half  Century  of  Conflict,"  which  I 
have  just  received.  Let  me  cordially  congratu 
late  you  upon  having  set  the  crown  on  the  great 
work  to  which  you  have  consecrated  all  your  life. 
No  one  values  it  more  than  I  do.  I  am  now 
going  to  forsake  all  other  reading,  in  order  to 
plunge  headlong  into  your  two  volumes.  For  me 
they  have  a  double  attraction :  because  of  the 
conscientious  researches  of  which  they  are  the 
fruit,  and  because  they  are  written  by  a  person 
who  has  always  been  the  object  of  my  admira 
tion,  and  for  whom  I  feel  an  attachment  that  I 
cannot  well  express.  .  .  .  Je  fais  des  voeux  pour 
que  votre  chere  sante  s'ameliore,  et  je  vous  prie 
de  croire  a  une  estime  qui  n'a  d'egale  que  mon 
attachement.  H.  R.  CASGRAIN. 

So  they  parted  with  French  politeness  on  their 
lips  and  kind  feelings  in  their  hearts.  "  Croyez 


CANADA  AND   CANADIAN   FRIENDS    279 

toujours  a  ma  sincere  amitie  :  la  votre  m'honore 
infiniment,  Casgrain."  "  Que  Dieu  vous  aide, 
tout-a-vous,  Parkman." 

I  must  not  close  this  correspondence  without 
a  passing  allusion  —  my  ignorance  will  not  suffer 
me  to  do  more  —  to  two  criticisms  which  the 
Abbe  Casgrain  has  made  upon  Parkman's  his 
tory.  The  first  is  that  Parkman  was  unjust  in 
his  account  of  the  poor  peasants  banished  from 
Acadia  by  the  English  in  1755. 1  Parkman  did 
make  a  mistake  in  his  reliance  upon  certain  doc 
uments  officially  published :  "  Selections  from  the 
Public  Documents  of  the  Province  of  Nova  Sco 
tia  ;  "  these  were  in  fact  badly  garbled,  as  the 
Abbe  proved  by  his  diligent  researches  and  dis 
coveries  in  the  British  Museum  and  the  Record 
Office  in  London.  The  Abbe,  relying  on  this 
fresh  evidence,  spoke  very  warmly  in  favor  of 
the  Acadians  in  his  book  "Un  pelerinage  au  pays 
d'Evangeline "  (1886)  ;  but  other  scholars  say 
that  the  case  against  the  Acadian  peasants  is 
not  upset  by  the  new  documents. 

The  second  criticism  is  that  Parkman  made 
Montcalm  the  French  hero  in  the  final  drama  at 
Quebec,  whereas  this  honor  should  have  been 
bestowed  upon  Levis.  Several  years  after  Park 
man's  book  was  published,  Count  Raimond  de 
Nicolay,  great-grandson  of  Chevalier  Levis, 
1  Montcalm  and  Wolfe,  chap.  viii. 


280  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

through  the  good  offices  of  Abbe  Casgrain,  gave 
permission  to  the  Province  of  Quebec  to  publish 
the  journals  and  letters  of  his  great-grandfather. 
To  these  valuable  papers  Parknian  had  not  ac 
cess.  They  were  published  between  1889  and 
1895  under  the  superintendence  of  the  Abbe, 
and  show  that  Levis  was  a  very  noble,  spirited, 
and  capable  man,  and,  if  they  do  not  oust  Mont- 
calm  from  his  pedestal,  prove  that  the  French 
had  a  second  hero  as  well. 

During  all  the  years  from  the  beginning  of 
preparation  until  the  "  Half  Century  of  Con 
flict"  was  sent  to  the  printer,  Parkman  made 
from  time  to  time  frequent  visits  to  Canada. 
As  Sir  James  M.  Le  Moine  says,  he  used  to 
call  Quebec  his  sunny,  health-restoring,  holiday 
home.  No  wonder  the  St.  Lawrence  was  a  river 
after  his  own  heart,  with  its  long  ancestry  of 
lakes,  its  great  seaward  flow,  its  shifting  banks, 
high  and  low,  soft  and  rugged,  its  little  lines 
of  white  villages,  and  the  romantic  citadel  of 
Quebec,  at  whose  feet  it  flows  with  all  the  chiv 
alry  proper  to  the  prince  of  rivers.  He  would 
go  about  as  always,  with  a  little  notebook  in 
pocket,  jotting  down,  not  with  the  prodigality 
of  old,  but  with  a  frugal  pencil,  notes  and  memo 
randa,  so  brief  that  one  little  book  served  for 
years.  But  the  old  love  of  detail  is  there. 

In  Canada,  too,  after  forty  lean  years  of  absti- 


CANADA  AND   CANADIAN   FRIENDS    281 

nence,  he  camped  out  for  the  last  time ;  on  the 
banks  of  the  Batiscan  River,  he  spent  a  month 
with  Mr.  Farnham,  his  biographer. 

TO    MISS    PARKMAN. 

BATISCAN  RIVER,  7  June,  [1886]. 
MY  DEAR  L.,  —  I  am  well.  Fishing  good. 
Flies  bad.  Farnham  very  pleasant.  Camp  fin 
ished  and  comfortable.  Excellent  fare.  Family 
consists  of  selves  and  our  puppy.  ...  F.  an  ex 
cellent  cook. 

F.  P. 

Parkman  could  not  do  much,  hobbled  by  his 
lame  knee,  but  he  was  always  interested,  patient, 
and  cheerful.  He  enjoyed  the  "  feel "  of  a  rifle 
once  more,  and  a  shot  at  a  handy  mark  ;  he  tried 
fishing  with  a  fly,  —  the  worm  of  his  early  days 
having  crawled  under  the  protection  of  fashion 
able  contempt.  He  liked  to  get  into  his  little 
canoe,  in  which  he  could  mock  his  lame  leg, 
and  paddle  down  the  river,  gazing  at  the  green 
banks,  the  high  bluffs,  the  close  thickets,  —  all 
as  it  were  seen  in  a  magic  mirror,  for  he  could 
not  enter.  This  was  his  last  visit  to  the  land  he 
had  done  so  much  to  honor. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

LATER   LIFE 

THERE  still  remains  the  duty  to  chronicle  the 
simple  happenings  in  the  life  of  the  scholar  in 
valid,  during  the  thirty  years  from  the  war  until 
his  death  ;  they  are  uneventful,  much  too  undra- 
matic  for  a  reader,  but  such  as  they  were  they 
made  up  his  life.  Random  extracts  from  his  sis 
ter's  diary  show  the  ups  and  downs  over  which 
he  passed :  — 

1862,  Jan.  29.    F.  went  to  the  Baldwins'  last 
ev'g  to  a  small  supper  given  to  Mr.  W.  Hunt, 
and  to-night  was  able  to  go  to  the  Club  for  a 
short  time. 

June  11.  F.  has  seemed  in  very  good  spirits  for 
a  day  or  two. 

Sept.  9.  F.  is  suffering  from  the  most  severe 
attack  in  his  eyes  he  has  had  for  years.  He 
cannot  attend  to  his  gardening  at  all.  Mo 
ther  feels  very  anxious. 

10th.  F.,  if  anything,  worse.  He  seems  in  very 
low  spirits. 

15th.  F.  seems  better. 

1863,  Jan.  24.  F.  is  highly  entertained  by  "  Pick 
wick,"  as  much  as  if  he  had  never  read  it  be 
fore. 


LATER  LIFE  283 

Feb.  11.  F.  is  beginning  to  work  upon  his  French 

History,  though,  as  he  says,  at  a  snail's  pace. 

His  eyes  are  very  troublesome  now. 
June  27.  Rose  Show.   Grace  [his  daughter]  and 

I  drove  in  with  F.  and  arranged  the  flowers. 

1st  prize,  Moss  Roses ;  2d,  June  Roses ;  3d, 

Display. 
Sept.  20.  F.  has  not  slept  for  some  nights,  and 

his  head  is  in  a  bad  state. 
Oct.  1.  F.  still  has  very  poor  nights  and  seems 

miserably. 
2d.  F.  had  very  little  sleep ;  head  very  bad. 

1864,  June  25.    This  is  the  day  of   the  Rose 
Show.    Grace  and  I  went  in  to  help  Frank. 
We  worked  steadily  for  two  hours,  and  barely 
had  time  to  prepare  the  great  quantity  of  roses. 
F.  took  four  1st  prizes  and  a  large  "  gratuity." 

1865,  June  6th.    F.  went  to  Washington  this 
morning. 

12th.  Frank  writes  from  Washington.  He  has 
seen  the  camps  and  means  to  go  to  Rich 
mond. 

20th.  Letter  from  F.  at  Richmond.  He  is  de 
tained  there  to  collect  documents  for  the  Bos 
ton  Athenaeum. 

July  18th.  Frank  and  I  have  been  to  a  reception 
at  the  Lymans'  to  meet  Gen.  Meade  and  Staff. 

Nov.  7.  Frank  came  down  to  breakfast  very 
lame ;  thinks  the  old  trouble  is  all  coming 
back. 

22d.  The  anxiety  about  Frank's  knee  is  passing 
away. 

1866,  Aug.  10th.  F.  started  for  Quebec. 
29.  F.  took  the  usual  prizes  at  the  Hort. 


284  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

Nov.  16th.  F.  came  in  [town]  to-day  to  live. 

1867,  April  20th.  F.  came  in  to  spend  Sunday. 
Grace  came  to  tea.    Enthusiasm  over  cats. 

July  10.  Frank  is  going  to  the  Mississippi  River ; 
he  is  now  writing  history  connected  with  its  dis 
covery,  and  goes  on  that  account.  What  a  good 
summer  he  has  had  so  far  ;  his  book  ["Jesuits"] 
out  this  spring  and  well  received,  and  his 
flowers  so  successful,  and  he  seems  so  well. 

Aug.  15.  Frank  arrived  none  the  worse  for  the 
5  weeks  journey,  though  he  has  used  head  and 
eyes  much.  He  has  brought  many  photo's  of 
Sioux  Indians  and  of  Mississippi  scenery.  [He 
saw  Henry  Chatillon  at  St.  Louis.] 

1868,  June  30.   Drove  in  with  F.  to  the  Rose 
Show.    F.  took  1st  prizes. 

July  15.  F.  goes  to  Cambridge  in  all  the  heat. 
He  is  chosen  overseer  of  the  college. 

Aug.  1st.  F.  has  gone  to  Rye  to  spend  Sunday 
with  the  children. 

10th.  F.  left  this  ev'g  to  spend  a  fortnight  in 
Canada. 

Sept.  25.  Mother  is  75  to-day.  F.  brought  in 
white  roses. 

Oct.  29.  Frank's  head  is  in  a  bad  state,  the  first 
time  for  a  long  time. 

Nov.  1.  F.'s  head  is  very  bad,  worse  than  for 
some  time ;  he  says,  years. 

Nov.  27.  Frank  has  determined  to  go  to  Paris 
for  the  winter.  His  head  seems  a  little  better, 
but  he  cannot  do  much  with  it,  and  he  would 
rather  be  idle  there  than  here.  He  seems  dis 
posed  to  go,  and  in  good  spirits,  so  we  are  very 
glad  to  have  him,  but  it  leaves  a  great  gap. 


LATER  LIFE  285 

PARKMAN   TO   HIS   SISTER. 

21  BOULEVARD  ST.  MICHEL, 
PARIS,  15  Jan.,  1869. 

MY  DEAR  LIZZIE,  —  I  have  rec'd  your  letter 
of  8  Dec.,  but  not  till  a  month  after  its  date.  .  .  . 
There  is  a  little  girl  in  the  house,  daughter  of 
the  concierge,  who  collects  post-stamps,  and  would 
be  delighted  with  five  or  six  American  and  Ca 
nadian  stamps.  Will  you  inclose  them  in  your 
next  if  convenient.  I  mean  to  leave  here  for 
England  early  in  March,  and  thence  home  after 
a  few  days  in  London.  .  .  . 

[Jan.  18.] 

...  I  have  just  rec'd  all  your  letters.  I  am 
grieved  more  than  I  can  tell  you  about  mother's 
accident.  Keep  me  well  informed  about  it.  ... 
Tell  Grace  that  there  are  girls  here  who  ride  on 
velocipedes  with  two  wheels  in  the  streets,  but 
that  their  conduct  is  not  at  all  approved.  .  .  . 

[28  Jan., '69.] 

If  I  do  not  hear  good  news  soon  I  shall  set  out 
for  home,  but  I  trust  that  mother  is  getting  bet 
ter.  Remember  me  most  affectionately  to  her 
and  tell  her  that  I  think  of  her  continually.  I 
am  doing  very  well  indeed,  and  am  far  better  in 
health  than  when  I  left  Boston.  ...  I  have  a 
good  many  acquaintances,  some  of  them  very 
pleasant  ones,  though  I  refuse  dinners,  etc. 

[Feb.  1,  '69.] 

I  have  just  rec'd  yours  of  Jan.  16  with  news 
that  mother  is  better,  which  is  an  immense  re 
lief.  I  am  all  right  bating  a  cold  in  the  head. 


286  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

To-morrow  I  am  going  to  St.  Cloud  to  breakfast 
with  Count  Circourt,  a  friend  of  the  Ticknors.  I 
see  Margry  often.  He  was  here  the  other  night, 
and  staid  till  twelve.  ...  I  made  a  journey  of  2 
miles  and  more  under  Paris,  through  the  sewers, 
partly  in  a  boat,  and  partly  in  a  sort  of  rail-ear. 
.  .  .  Give  my  best  love  to  mother  and  the  chil 
dren,  not  forgetting  Jack. 

[Feb.  24,  '69.] 

Have  been  troubled  with  want  of  sleep  for  five 
or  six  nights,  but  otherwise  all  right.  If  I  ac 
cepted  invitations,  which  I  do  not,  I  should  have 
the  run  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  I  have 
just  declined  an  invitation  from  the  Prince  de 
feroglie  to  dine.  Yesterday  I  saw  the  Marquis  de 
Montcalm,  great-grandson  of  Wolfe's  antagonist, 
who  was  very  civil.  The  post-stamps  were  very 
gratefully  received.  Don't  let  the  doctor  [Dr. 
Bigelow]  think  that  I  am  doing  anything  but 
amuse  myself,  for  I  am  not.  I  meet  a  few  people 
incidentally,  but  am  very  stiff  in  declining  over 
tures.  The  Marquis  placed  his  family  papers  at 
my  disposal.  I  have  not  read  one  of  them,  but 
employed  a  man  to  copy  them,  who  is  now  at 
work. 

MISS  PARKMAN'S  DIARY. 

1869.  March  27.  F.  arrived  this  ev'g.    He  seems 
in  very  good  spirits  and  health. 

April  12.  Frank's  head  is  almost  as  bad  as  be 
fore  he  went  away. 

1870.  Feb.  17.    F.  has  been  very  sleepless  of 
late.    He  had  his  club  last  night  at  the  Union 
Club  rooms  (mother  being  ill). 


LATER  LIFE  287 

March  24.  F.  is  having  sleepless  nights,  and  suf 
fering  very  much. 

Sept.  16.  F.'s  birthday.  He  got  no  sleep  last 
night,  and  I  never  saw  him  more  affected  by 
it  in  health  or  spirits.  It  is  a  year  since  he 
has  been  sleepless,  more  or  less. 

23d.  F.  did  not  sleep  at  all  last  night.  It  is 
wonderful  that  he  can  do  anything  by  day, 
and  he  does  not  do  much. 

24th.  F.  slept  between  5  and  6  hours.  It  is  such 
a  relief.  Yesterday  it  was  mournful  enough 
at  breakfast,  though  he  plays  with  the  cats 
and  the  children  and  says  nothing. 

25th.  Mother  is  76  to-day.  As  I  came  down  to 
breakfast  I  saw  F.  coming  in  with  a  bunch  of 
roses  already  tied,  and  another  of  ribbons  and 
daisies.  He  looked  so  well  I  knew  he  had 
slept,  and  found  he  had  had  a  very  good  night. 
That  alone  made  mother  happy. 

1871.  March  12.  Mother  feels  very  happy  that 
F.  has  just  been  chosen  professor  of  Horticul 
ture  in  the  new  Bussey  Institute  of  H.  C. 
[Harvard  College] .  Frank  himself  likes  the 
appointment,  as  he  thinks  he  can  do  the  work 
without  giving  more  time  than  he  can  give, 
and  the  fact  that  he  can  take  such  a  responsi 
bility  is  a  delight  as  a  proof  of  how  much  better 
he  is.  [He  resigned  as  overseer  of  the  college 
on  the  ground  of  inconsistency  between  the 
two  positions.] 

April  2d.  Flora's  first  kittens  appeared,  but  had 
a  brief  existence.  F.'s  interest  was  deep,  and 
his  disappointment  also. 

June  8th.  Mother  moved  out  of  town  with  great 


288  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

difficulty  (on  account  of  her  hip),  but  at  last 
was  safe  in  her  room,  rhododendrons  and  roses 
of  Frank's  gathering  all  about  her. 

That  summer  their  mother  died,  while  Park- 
man  was  in  Canada.  It  was  a  terrible  blow  to 
him,  —  "poor  fellow,  how  his  face  looked,"  — 
and  the  brother  and  sister  were  left  alone  to  go 
through  life  together,  for  their  sister  Caroline 
had  married  and  their  sister  Mary  had  died  sev 
eral  years  before,  and  their  brother  Jack  —  John 
Eliot,  once  Elly  —  died  soon  afterwards. 

In  1872  they  went  to  Paris,  as  Parkman  wished 
to  relieve  his  insatiable  appetite  for  more  docu 
ments.  Here  they  saw  a  good  deal  of  Margry,  a 
person  who  plays  a  part  in  the  story  of  Parkman 's 
difficulties  in  laying  his  hands  on  documents, 
even  on  those  of  which  he  had  definite  informa 
tion.  Parkman  had  known  this  gentleman  for 
several  years,  not  without  forming  some  opinion 
of  him,  as  we  see  from  certain  phrases  in  the  let 
ters  of  1868  to  Abbe  Casgrain :  — 

As  for  Margry,  I  am  fully  of  your  mind  con 
cerning  him.  I  arn  in  the  midst  of  La  Salle's 
discoveries.  ...  I  have  a  great  deal  that  is  new 
relating  to  his  enterprises ;  and  but  for  M.  Mar 
gry,  should  have  still  more.  .  .  .  Margry  is  very 
intractable,  and  I  can  get  nothing  from  him. 

M.  Pierre  Athanase  Margry,  chef  adjoint 
Archiviste  au  Ministere  de  la  Marine  (in  later 


LATER  LIFE  289 

years  en  retraite)  and  Chevalier  de  la  Legion 
d'Honneur,  had  made  an  immense  collection  of 
documents  about  La  Salle,  which  he  had  ferreted 
out  of  the  Public  Archives  under  his  charge  with 
great  zeal  and  industry  ;  these  he  wished  to  pub 
lish  himself,  but  he  had  not  money  enough,  and 
was  not  willing  that  another  should  reap  the  har 
vest  of  his  sowing,  so  he  denied  Parkman  access 
to  them.  As  these  documents  were  of  great  in 
terest  in  the  history  of  the  United  States,  an 
attempt  had  been  made  a  year  or  two  before  to 
induce  Congress  to  make  an  appropriation  for  the 
cost  of  publication,  but  in  vain.  In  this  collection 
were  La  Salle's  own  letters,  and  these  Parkman 
was  most  eager  to  see.  This  conduct  of  Margry's 
has  been  harshly  blamed.  Mr.  Justin  Winsor 
says :  "  The  keeper  of  an  important  department 
of  the  French  Archives  had  been  so  unfaithful  to 
his  trust  as  to  reserve  for  his  own  private  use  some 
of  its  documentary  proofs."  Be  the  blame  just 
or  no,  —  a  lawyer  might  find  something  to  say  in 
behalf  of  a  right  of  lien  for  labor  spent  in  search 
and  discovery, — Parkman  freely  forgave  him. 
Margry  was  a  man  with  whom  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  remain  angry,  even  for  a  much  less 
generous  person  than  Parkman  ;  he  was  a  voluble 
Gallic,  kindly,  smiling,  enthusiastic  little  person, 
lively,  alert,  "  sensitive  and  distrustful,"  wearing 
his  mustachios  and  goatee  after  the  fashion  of 


290  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

the  Second  Empire.  An  amiable,  infantile  look 
of  quizzical  cunning  on  his  face,  with  his  silk 
hat,  kid  gloves,  and  loose  pantaloons,  effectually 
disqualified  him  as  an  object  of  indignation.  He 
was  very  friendly,  liked  to  come  and  sit  and  chat, 
and  would  stay  till  cockcrow  if  permitted ;  he  was 
full  of  friendly  usages,  and  on  this  visit  cele 
brated  Parkman's  birthday  with  a  poem  :  — 

16.  7bre-     1823-1872. 

A  FRANCIS  PARKMAN,  AUTEUR  DES  FRANC.AIS  EN 
AME"RIQUE. 

Dans  le  monde,  ou  vous  etes  ne* 
Vos  Merits  disent  notre  gloire; 
Nul  n'a,  comme  vous,  honore' 
Les  beaux  actes  de  notre  histoire. 

Cependant  presque  inapergu 
Vous  allez  parcourant  la  France, 
Et  c'est  par  hasard  que  j'ai  su 
La  date  de  votre  naissance. 

Aussi  je  veux  pour  mon  pays 

Feter  ce  jour,  selon  1'usage, 

Par  la  meme  pensde  unis 

II  m'est  cher  de  vous  rendre  hommage. 

The  poem  has  ten  stanzas,  is  annotated,  and 
altogether  breathes  patriotism,  hatred  of  Bis 
marck,  and  love  of  Parkman.  The  friendship 
thus  fostered  led  to  a  plan,  —  that  Parkman 
should  try  to  persuade  some  American  bookseller 
to  publish  the  collection,  for  Margry,  in  spite  of 
poetry,  firmly  declined  to  sell  the  documents  or 


LATER  LIFE  291 

the  use  of  them ;  but  this  plan  came  to  nought, 
as  the  great  fire  in  Boston  made  general  econ 
omy  necessary.  Thereupon  Parkmaii  pricked  on 
professors,  and  the  professors  stuck  spurs  into 
historical  societies  —  fire,  fire,  burn  stick ;  stick, 
stick,  beat  pig,  —  and  they,  in  turn,  petitioned 
Congress  to  make  the  necessary  appropriation 
of  $10,000.  Senator  Hoar  and  General  Garfield 
took  the  matter  up ;  the  act  was  passed,  and  the 
4  Decouvertes  et  Etablissements  des  Frangais, 
dans  1'Ouest  et  dans  le  Sud  de  FAmerique  Sep- 
tentrionale  (1614-1754),  Memoires  et  Docu 
ments  originaux,"  were  published  in  Paris,  and 
did  good  service  for  a  later  edition  of  "  La  Salle 
and  the  Discovery  of  the  Great  West." 

There  were  other  friends  in  Paris,  the  Marquis 
de  Montcalm,  a  nobleman  completely  indifferent 
to  that  ceremonious  deportment  which  we  like 
to  think  accompanies  a  coronet,  but  a  kindly 
little  man,  always  giving  full  performance  in 
deeds  to  the  pleasant  "  expression  de  ma  parfaite 
auntie*  et  de  mes  sentiments  les  plus  distingue*s ;  " 
there  was  M.  le  Comte  de  Circourt,  and  other 
gentlemen  acquainted  with  Canadian  history, 
either  through  respect  for  their  fighting  ances 
tors,  or,  by  a  prodigious  cosmopolitan  effort,  in 
teresting  themselves  in  things  outside  of  Paris. 

Parkmaii  enjoyed  the  beautiful  city,  he  was 
diverted  by  the  happy  bearing  and  gay  polite- 


292  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

ness  of  the  people,  and  he  liked  to  stroll,  when 
he  could,  along  the  quais,  and  examine  the  rows 
of  books,  always  seasonable  bait  for  the  foreign 
traveler,  or  see  what  could  be  seen  from  tops  of 
omnibuses. 

There  was  but  one  intrusion  of  unpleasant 
ness  into  his  French  relations  :  a  lady,  Mme.  la 
Comtesse  de  Clermont-Tonnerre,  translated  into 
French  "The  Pioneers,"  and  "The  Jesuits," 
but  in  such  a  garbled  and  wanton  manner,  as  to 
suppress  facts  and  opinions  which  in  her  judgment 
were  not  so  complimentary  to  the  church  as  the 
needs  of  pious  edification  required.  Mr.  Park- 
man  was  nettled,  and  expressed  his  opinion,  but 
with  much  less  asperity  than  the  lady  deserved. 

In  contradistinction  to  this  disagreeable  im 
propriety,  M.  Geffrey  delivered  an  intelligent 
speech  before  the  Department  of  Moral  and  Po 
litical  Sciences  of  the  French  Institute,  on  the 
occasion  of  presenting  a  copy  of  Parkman's 
works,  and  expressed  appreciation  of  the  even- 
handed  justice  which  Parkman  had  dealt  to  so 
partisan  a  subject. 

After  this  visit  to  Paris  in  1872,  brother  and 
sister  returned  to  their  old  way  of  life,  dividing 
the  year  between  Jamaica  Plain  and  50  Chestnut 
Street.  He  had  given  up  his  professorship  at 
the  Bussey  Institute,  after  one  year  of  service, 
but  he  always  maintained  a  deep  affection  for 


LATER  LIFE  293 

the  college,  and  in  1875  was  elected  one  of  the 
Fellows  of  the  Corporation.  He  served  for  thir 
teen  years,  and  was  regular  and  punctual  in  his 
attendance;  sometimes  the  matters  of  business 
were  too  severe  in  their  claims  on  his  atten 
tion,  and  he  would  get  up  and  walk  about,  or  go 
out  into  the  fresh  air,  and  then  come  back  to 
the  business. 

In  1880  he  made  another  trip  to  England  and 
France.  This  time  the  archives  and  the  books 
on  the  banks  of  the  Seine  were  not  his  only  mo 
tives  for  going ;  his  younger  daughter  had  married 
Mr.  John  Templeman  Coolidge,  and  was  living 
in  Paris  with  her  husband.  This  journey  was 
memorable  for  the  discovery  of  the  letters  of 
Montcalm  to  his  lieutenant  Bourlamaque;  these 
letters  covered  all  the  time  from  Montcalm's 
arrival  in  Canada  to  within  a  few  "days  before 
his  death,  and  had  long  been  hidden  trealnre, 
suspected,  sought,  but  undiscovered.  For  fifteen 
years  Parkman  had  been  on  the  scent,  and  now 
that  he  was  approaching  the  time  to  publish 
"Montcalm  and  Wolfe,"  he  was  doubly  eager. 
The  letters  had  been  traced  to  England;  there 
the  scent  failed.  At  last  they  were  found  to  be 
a  part  of  a  precious  collection  belonging  to  Sir 
Thomas  Phillips,  a  great  buyer  of  manuscripts  in 
his  day,  and  from  him  they  had  descended  to  the 
Rev.  John  E.  A.  Feuwick,  and  were  hid  in  his 


294  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

library  at  Thirlestaine  House,  Cheltenham.  Let 
ters  passed  rapidly  concerning  the  treasure  trove, 
and  it  was  agreed  that  Mr.  Fenwick's  son  Fitz 
Roy,  who  was  "fond  of  deciphering,"  should  copy 
the  MSS.  wanted.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Fenwick  was 
obliged  to  move  about,  and  his  travels  to  Redels- 
ton  Hall,  Derby,  and  the  Crescent  Hotel,  Bux- 
ton,  caused  several  little  delays.  Then  the  young 
gentleman  had  to  hurry  back  to  Oxford  for  a 
cram,  as  he  was  to  be  examined  for  his  final 
"  school,"  and  a  new  copyist  had  to  be  found.  A 
lady  of  Atherfield  House,  Miles  Road,  Clifton, 
could  not  serve.  She,  however,  suggested  two 
ladies  of  the  Brooklands,  Gloster  Road,  but 
that  house  was  two  miles  and  a  half  from  Chel 
tenham  ;  finally  Mr.  Fenwick,  a  very  kind  and 
hospitable  man,  procured  the  services  of  a  French 
lady,  Miss  Marie  Ferret,  who  copied  the  rest  of 
the  documents,  "  Lettres  de  Vaudreuil,  Lettres 
de  Levis,  Lettres  Variarum,"  at  the  cost  of  3d. 
for  72  words,  as  a  neat  little  receipt  in  her  hand 
writing  records.  These  letters  were  especially 
valuable,  because  they  were  very  intimate,  full  of 
frank  remarks  on  Vaudreuil,  Bigot,  and  others, 
with  frequent  "brulez  cette  lettre," -  — orders, 
like  many  others  given  by  poor  Montcalm,  diso 
beyed. 

The   expenses   for  copying  were  often  very 
heavy ;  the  little  notebooks  record :  — 


LATER  LIFE  295 

Cost  of  copying,  etc. 

Montcalm  papers,  leave  to  copy       .     .      £20 
Facsimile  to  map  of  Ticoiideroga     .     .  15s. 

Book,  Conduct  of  Shirley 2 

T.  Fitzroy  Fenwick,  copying  ....         13    2     6 
J.  E.  A.  Fenwick,  copying  (for  Miss 

Ferret) 12 

Montcalm  picture,  60  francs. 

Wolfe  "       10s. 

Imbry,  copying 15     3 

Mrs.  Bullen,  copying 15     1 

These  expenses  obliged  Parkman  to  practice 
economy,  not  on  a  petty  scale,  but  after  the  man 
ner  of  a  prudent,  unostentatious  gentleman. 

Perhaps  it  was  on  this  visit  that  one  day  he 
was  sitting  upon  a  bench  in  St.  James's  Park, 
somewhat  forlorn,  missing  unconsciously  the  care 
he  always  got  at  50  Chestnut  Street,  .when  up 
came  friendly  aid  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Henry 
James,  who  put  him  down  at  the  Athenaeum 
Club,  and  gave  him  a  pleasant  sense  of  sym 
pathy,  admiration,  and  fellowship,  in  the  felici 
tous,  evasive  way  that  Parkman  liked  so  much. 
Mr.  James  and  the  Athenaeum  took  off  what  for 
Parkman  was  a  rather  cold,  raw  edge  in  London 
atmosphere. 

There  was  another  visit  to  Paris  the  next 
year;  and  at  divers  times  there  were  journeys  to 
Florida,  to  Acadia,to  Canada,  which  interrupted 
for  a  few  weeks  at  a  stretch  the  peaceful  life  at 


296  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

Jamaica  Pond.    His  health  continued  as  before, 
but  the  lack  of  sleep  grew  worse. 

PARKMAN   TO   DR.    WEIR   MITCHELL. 

JAMAICA  PLAIN,  5  Nov.,  1885. 

MY  DEAR  DR.  MITCHELL, — I  regret  to  bother 
you  again  with  my  troubles,  but  as  you  have  done 
more  for  me  than  anybody  else,  I  am  tempted  to 
do  so. 

For  about  two  years  I  have  observed  an  in 
creasing  tendency  to  insomnia.  This  autumn, 
within  about  two  months,  it  has  become  ex 
tremely  troublesome.  Sometimes  I  do  not  sleep 
at  all.  Often  I  sleep  only  from  one  to  three 
hours.  The  week  before  last,  the  average  for 
seven  days  was  about  two  hours.  Last  night  I 
heard  every  clock  but  those  of  eleven  and  twelve. 
The  preceding  night,  however,  I  slept  —  at  in 
tervals  and  not  continuously  —  to  the  amount 
of  more  than  five  hours,  which  was  rather  rare 
good  luck. 

Bromide,  etc.,  produce  no  effect.  .  .  .  Bating 
sleeplessness  and  its  effects,  I  have  been  better 
than  before,  with  the  exception  of  palpitation  of 
the  heart,  which  is  sometimes  very  troublesome. 
Throbbing  in  the  ear  at  night  is  also  annoying 
at  times.  The  old  distress  in  the  head  continues, 
but  has  been  less  distressing  within  the  last  few 
years  than  before  I  took  your  advice.  Within  the 
last  year  I  have  done  a  very  moderate  amount 
of  work,  and  recently  none  at  all.  .  .  .  Muscu 
lar  strength  is  not  exhausted,  but  nerves  are  set 
on  edge,  and  the  condition  of  the  head  entirely 
precludes  brain-work.  I  have  occasionally  had 


LATER  LIFE  297 

attacks  as  severe,  or  more  so,  —  once  four  suc 
cessive  nights  absolutely  without  sleep, — but  this 
is  more  persistent  than  any  before,  and  is  aggra 
vated  by  the  palpitation  of  the  heart,  which 
I  have  reason  to  believe  is  not  from  organic 
causes.  Yours  very  truly, 

F.  PARKMAN. 

The  skillful  physician  could  do  little  or  no 
thing.  I  must  not  let  myself  be  betrayed  into 
too  much  of  malady  and  medicine.  Parkman's 
body  might  be  hampered  and  harassed;  there 
was  no  sickness  in  his  spirit.  No  one  who  ad 
mitted  to  himself  that  he  was  an  invalid  could 
have  written  so  much  like  a  man,  belted  and 
booted,  with  hand  on  saddle-bow,  as  he  does  in 
all  his  histories. 

Neither  did  he  admit  that  he  was  cut  off  from 
indoor  pleasures.  He  always  enjoyed  the  meet 
ings  of  the  "  Saturday  Club,"  a  company  of  Bos 
ton  gentlemen,  some  of  great  note,  —  the  most 
famous  club  of  its  kind  in  America.  The  club 
used  to  meet  at  the  end  of  the  month  to  dine  to 
gether,  and  pronounce  salvation  or  condemnation, 
it  was  said,  upon  the  intellectual  work  of  Boston. 
Parkman  was  always  essentially  a  sociable  per 
son  ;  a  man  with  opinions  interesting  to  hear ;  a 
taker  of  sides ;  a  man  full  of  likes  and  dislikes ; 
a  lover  of  old  ways,  with  delightful  variety  of 
expression  between  quiet,  refined  acquiescence 


298  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

and  heady  opposition ;  a  charming  companion, 
a  distinguished  presence.  John  Fiske,  who  was 
a  member  of  the  club,  and  a  pretty  constant 
attendant,  never  knew  that  he  was  an  invalid  ; 
always  found  him  alert,  extremely  gentle  ;  and 
when  he  was  absent,  supposed  that  a  prudence 
for  digestion  or  early  hours  kept  him  away.  "  He 
never  made  the  slightest  allusion  to  his  ill  health ; 
he  would  probably  have  deemed  it  inconsistent 
with  good  breeding  to  intrude  upon  his  friends 
with  such  topics,  and  his  appearance  was  always 
most  cheerful." 

His  life  had  its  pleasures,  its  happiness,  its  gay- 
etres,  the  tenderness  of  deep  affection,  the  cheer 
of  friendship,  the  amusement  of  little  comic  hap 
penings  ;  it  was  a  good  life,  a  hundred  times 
worth  the  living,  if  it  had  been  only  for  the  plea 
sure  of  daily  fight  and  daily  victory ;  but  there 
were  history,  fame,  roses,  and  a  dozen  things, 
each  enough  to  make  him  hold  life  rich.  All 
these  found  their  way  into  his  daily  uneventful 
existence,  and  the  years  passed  on  far  too  quick. 

In  July,  1886,  after  his  experiment  at  camp 
ing  out  with  Mr.  Farnham,  he  went  to  the  Range- 
ley  Lakes  in  Maine,  where  he  lived  at  Bemis 
Camps,  "F.  C.  Barker,  Prop'r."  He  had  not 
much  to  do  there,  and  after  a  time  ill  health 
obliged  him  to  give  up  even  the  moderate  dis 
comforts  of  Mr.  Barker's  proprietorship. 


LATER  LIFE  299 

EXTRACTS    FROM    LETTERS   TO   MISS   PARKMAN. 

[Aug.,  1886.] 

As  I  am  forbidden  to  take  any  but  the  feeblest 
exercise,  and  as  the  light  is  very  strong  here,  my 
resources  for  passing  the  time  are  limited.  .  .  . 

Aug.  26.  Tell  Mike  I  wrote  to  him  to  pot  the 
chrysanthemums  about  Sept.  1,  and  to  order 
what  pots  are  wanted.  ...  I  think  a  little  of 
building  a  log  cabin  here,  with  two  small  rooms 
for  you,  if  you  should  want  to  come  for  a  week, 
month,  or  more.  It  will  cost  little,  and  be  inde 
pendent  of  the  rest.  Board  at  Barker's.  No 
servants  needed.  Barker  will  gladly  do  the  job. 
How  does  it  strike  you?  —  all  my  affair,  of 
course. 

This  was  a  delightful  plan,  and  the  log  cabin 
was  begun  with  the  happiest  expectations,  but 
the  grim  hand  of  disease  laid  hold  of  him,  and 
the  log  cabin,  half  built,  was  abandoned  for 
ever. 

The  next  year  he  made  a  visit  to  Spain  and 
France,  in  company  with  Dr.  Algernon  Coolidge. 

The  trip  was  cut  short  by  Parkman's  ill  health, 
and  he  went  back  to  the  flowers  on  the  banks  of 
Jamaica  Pond,  and  to  the  winter  life  in  Boston, 
where  his  attendance  at  the  dinners  of  the  Satur 
day  Club,  and  at  the  meetings  of  the  St.  Botolph 
Club,  became  gradually  less  and  less. 

In  the  last  summers  of  his  life  he  used  to  go 
to  Little  Harbour,  near  Portsmouth,  to  pay  a  visit 


300  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

to  his  son  and  daughter,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Coolidge, 
and  their  children.  Mr.  Coolidge  lived  in  the 
Wentworth  mansion,  which  stands  on  a  point  of 
land  where  the  Piscataqua  runs  into  the  sea.  It 
is  an  old  house,  built  in  the  reign  of  George  II, 
with  a  rambling  roof  and  a  quaint,  romantic 
aspect,  telling  stories  of  ancient  days.  Round 
the  house  are  old  lilac  bushes  ;  on  one  side  is  one 
outlet  of  the  river,  on  the  other  a  creek,  both  at 
low  tide  almost  dry,  laying  bare  sandbank,  mus 
sel-bed,  seaweed,  rocks,  and  glistening,  gleam 
ing  mud-flats,  —  strangely  beloved  by  delicate 
colors  that  come  as  soon  as  the  sea  goes  and 
linger  till  it  drives  them  off  again.  Here  Park- 
man  liked  to  go  a-fishing,  —  not  with  the  fly  of 
the  Canadian  camp,  but  with  the  homely  worm 
or  a  vexed  grasshopper ;  on  better  days  he  got 
to  the  shore  with  a  cane,  on  worse  days  with  a 
crutch,  but  once  safely  in  the  little  rowboat,  he 
grasped  the  oars  with  the  comfort  of  mastery,  and 
rowed  for  hours  at  a  smartish  pace  even  when 
against  the  tide,  or  sometimes  he  would  throw 
out  his  anchor  and  fish  for  cod  and  perch.  He 
enjoyed  his  grandchildren  very  much,  and  his 
friends ;  sometimes  he  had  a  chat  with  Mr.  Bar 
rett  Wendell  over  Cotton  Mather,  or  with  Mr. 
Howells  over  that  more  modern  New  Englander, 
Silas  Lapham,  or,  perhaps,  in  default  of  other 
society,  he  would  play  with  the  cat. 


LATER  LIFE  301 

PARKMAN   TO   HIS    SISTER  —  EXTRACTS. 

Things  are  here  as  usual,  —  all  the  worse  for 
your  absence;  I  row  every  day  and  fish  occa 
sionally.  The  cat  had  a  temporary  seizure,  in 
the  nature  of  a  mal  de  mer,  in  consequence  of 
imprudent  indulgence  in  lobster.  The  rest  of 
the  family  are  well.  My  eyes  are  less  sensitive. 
Knees  about  as  when  I  last  wrote.  I  sometimes 
get  to  the  wharf  without  the  one  horse  shay  ;  but 
do  not  like  to  try  it  often.  Have  not  slept  well 
for  two  or  three  nights.  Otherwise  well  enough. 
Want  very  much  to  see  you.  .  .  . 

Things  go  on  here  as  usual.  The  afternoon 
of  Tuesday  was  extremely  hot,  and  the  night 
still  worse,  so  that  sleep  was  out  of  the  question. 
I  made  up  for  it  last  night.  All  well.  I  miss 
you  extremely,  though  Katy  [Mrs.  Coolidge] 
has  taken  her  lessons  from  you  very  well.  .  .  . 

I  have  received  from  you  a  card,  a  note,  and 
the  bundle,  of  which  the  last  two  came  yester 
day.  All  were  most  welcome.  I  should  be  a  very 
discreet  young  man  if  I  were  as  thoughtful  for 
myself  as  you  are  for  me.  You  are  the  beau 
ideal  of  sisterhood ;  of  which  I  am  always  affec 
tionately  conscious,  though  I  do  not  say  much. 
I  slept  last  night  with  the  help  of  "pisen." 
Eyes  better.  Miriam  [cat]  has  been  suffering, 
as  Molly  [his  granddaughter]  conjectures,  from 
the  bite  of  a  spider  which  she  was  munching 
in  the  grass  ;  but  she  seems  convalescent.  Rest 
of  the  family  well.  The  shoes  were  as  welcome 
as  unexpected.  .  .  . 


302  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

It  was  a  great  disappointment  to  learn  that 
you  wer*e  not  coming.  Can  you  not  come  after 
your  stay  with  T.  ?  I  took  Molly  out  fishing  on 
Monday.  She  caught  a  sculpin  and  a  pollock, 
which  last  was  served  up  at  tea,  and  pronounced 
by  her  to  be  one  of  the  best  fish  she  ever  tasted. 
She  was  delighted  with  her  success.  Sleep  very 
uncertain.  .  .  . 

After  having  been  able  to  get  about  more  than 
for  several  years  past,  I  was  suddenly  attacked, 
three  days  ago,  by  a  greatly  increased  lameness 
of  the  old  knee,  and  to-day  can  scarcely  get  out 
of  the  house  at  all,  especially  as  a  severe  lum 
bago  is  added,  which  makes  my  attempts  at 
locomotion  rather  ridiculous.  No  cause  that  I 
can  see.  .  .  . 

All  right  here.  The  circus  came  off  with  eclat, 
and  Molly  was  conspicuous  in  gymnastics.  A 
goat  race  took  place  with  applause.  Louise 
[granddaughter]  had  a  profusion  of  gifts,  to 
which  I  made  the  contribution  of  an  india  rubber 
ball,  chosen  by  her  mother  as  of  a  safe  nature. 

Things  go  as  well  here  as  the  extreme  heat 
will  permit.  I  have  got  about  more  freely,  and 
missing  my  crutches  this  morning,  sent  Molly  to 
look  for  them.  She  found  them  in  my  room,  as 
I  had  inadvertently  come  down  without  them, 
which  causes  me  to  pass  for  a  bit  of  a  humbug. 

Crock  [a  cat]  has  caused  some  moderated  sor 
row  ;  but  I  cannot  wear  crape  as  my  hat  is  not 
adapted  to  it.  Visitors  come  and  go  constantly. 
I  am  reasonably  well  and  very  glad  to  hear  from 
you. 


LATER  LIFE  303 

Thus  the  simple  chronicle  of  the  last  years 
runs  away.  The  "  Half  Century  of  Conflict " 
was  published  in  the  spring  of  1892 ;  and  it  is 
amusing  to  find  the  old  difficulty  about  a  name 
that  had  bothered  him  with  "  Pontiac."  First 
he  thought  of  the  "  Rivals,"  a  dramatic  name, 
then  of  the  "  Irrepressible  Conflict,"  a  political 
name,  and  then  at  last,  the  sister,  upon  whom 
he  had  gradually  come  to  depend  to  a  degree 
that  even  his  strong,  independent  spirit  at  last 
understood,  helped  him  with  the  happy  solution. 

His  work  was  then  done ;  there  was  no  rea 
son  why  he  should  tarry.  After  his  visit  to  the 
Wentworth  mansion  in  the  summer  of  1893,  he 
returned  to  Jamaica  Plain ;  he  went  rowing  on 
a  Sunday,  came  back  to  the  house,  felt  sick, 
and  went  to  bed.  His  life  had  run  its  course, 
and  after  a  brief  illness,  borne,  like  all  his  ills, 
with  dignity,  gentleness,  and  serenity,  he  died  on 
November  8,  1893. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

CHARACTER  AND   OPINIONS 

A  MAN  in  his  innermost  core  may  be  a  unity,  a 
homogeneous  something,  which  remains  always 
the  same ;  or  if  it  change,  changes  with  a  uni 
form  movement,  the  whole  being  altering  at  once. 
Perhaps  by  "  other  eyes  than  ours  "  this  inmost 
personality  may  be  seen ;  but  in  this  world  it 
is  invisible,  or  else  appears  in  such  an  endless 
variety  of  ways  that  we,  guided  by  a  practical 
philosophy,  must  face  it  in  an  agnostic  attitude. 
Even  the  outer  being  shifts  with  the  sun,  with 
the  air,  with  breakfast  coffee,  with  this  man's 
presence  or  that  girl's  absence,  with  hope,  te 
dium,  prosperity.  A  man  appears  to  his  acquaint 
ance  this,  to  his  neighbors  that,  to  his  friends 
thus  and  so,  to  his  family  different,  and  per 
haps  to  the  woman  whom  he  loves  different  still. 
Therefore  a  biographer  but  goes  a-fishing,  seek 
ing  which  of  the  many  semblances  appearing  to 
one  or  another  come  in  his  judgment  closer  to 
that  inmost  self  which,  though  the  moving  force 
within,  he  cannot  touch.  lie  must  catch,  as  best 


CHARACTER  AND   OPINIONS  305 

he  can,  the  traits,  dispositions,  manners,  that 
have  left  their  imprint  here  and  there  and  put 
them  together  in  some  consistent  fashion,  so 
that  they  shall  indicate,  if  possible,  the  move 
ments  of  what  he  believes  is  the  mainspring 
within.  This  makeshift  is  likely,  at  best,  to  be 
a  botch.  An  honest  purpose  is  the  only  excuse. 

The  Parkmans,  though  Boston  bred,  and  an- 
cestored  by  masters  in  theology,  hailed  from 
Devon,  and  among  their  family  possessions  had 
what  need  never  be  inquired  about  too  curiously, 
—  a  coat-of-arms.  On  this  there  is  a  chevron, 
a  field  azure,  a  coronet,  a  helmet,  and  various 
heraldic  appendages ;  but  for  us  the  significant 
emblem  lies  in  the  crest,  which  depicts  a  "  horse 
hurrant."  Here  we  have  the  true  device  for 
Francis  Parkman.  Busy  with  little  things,  busy 
with  big  things,  as  a  boy  in  Medford  Fells  and 
in  his  chemical  laboratory,  as  a  lad  in  the  gym 
nasium  and  on  the  banks  of  the  Margalloway, 
as  a  man  in  his  flower-garden  and  in  his  library, 
in  his  quick  opinions,  in  his  vigorous  speech,  in 
his  wheeled  chair  or  limping  on  canes,  always  in 
his  heart  there  galloped  or  chafed  the  "horse 
hurrant." 

At  Paris,  once,  on  one  of  the  visits  made  in 
later  years  in  pursuit  of  documents,  his  friend 
M.  Margry  came  to  dine  with  him  and  his  sis 
ter.  The  fete  was  in  honor  of  his  birthday, — 


306  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

that  memorable  one  crowned  by  the  poem, — 
for  Margry  had  wished  to  celebrate  it,  and  the 
readiest  way  to  forestall  his  gay  proposals  was 
to  invite  him  to  the  hotel.  The  voluble  little 
Frenchman  talked  and  stayed,  stayed  and  talked, 
till  Parkman  had  to  betake  himself,  cane  in  hand, 
upstairs  for  a  few  minutes'  rest ;  he  dashed  up 
stairs  with  his  youthful  ardor.  Margry  caught 
sight  of  him,  and  nicknamed  him  "le  cerf- volant," 
which  is,  I  take  it,  a  graceful  French  rendering 
of  "  horse  hurrant."  Thus  it  was  always.  Park- 
man's  ardor  hurled  him  on,  obstacles  stuck  spurs 
into  him,  difficulties  whipped  and  stung  him ; 
onward  he  dashed,  the  hot  spirit  always  bullying 
the  body,  and  the  poor  body  always  paying  the 
scot.  To  his  daughter  he  was  a  "  passionate  Puri 
tan,"  —  the  phrase  is  just.  Under  his  stoicism, 
under  his  reserve,  under  his  gentleness,  all  cast 
in  the  Puritan  mould,  was  this  passionate  spirit. 
Chi  non  arde  non  risplende,  as  the  Umbrian 
proverb  says.  When  he  was  lying  on  his  sick 
bed,  ill  and  helpless,  a  lady  came  to  see  him  ; 
eager  to  be  of  comfort,  she  said,  "  Oh,  think  of 
what  you  have  done."  "Done!"  he  cried,  his 
head  rising  from  the  pillow,  "  done  !  there  is 
much  more  still  for  me  to  do  !" 

The  Puritan  inheritance  mingles  with  its  stead 
fastness  a  certain  sternness  not  unbecoming  a 
man.  The  soldier  must  be  stern  ;  and  there  are 


CHARACTER   AND   OPINIONS  307 

certain  photographs  of  Parkman  that  throw  into 
prominence  his  fine  jaw,  and  reveal  a  latent 
sternness  needful  for  a  lifelong  battle  with  phy 
sical  ills,  and  by  him  well  put  to  use  in  resistance 
to  the  unseen  enemy  that  robbed  him  of  his  eyes, 
his  legs,  and  the  use  of  his  brain.  That  stern 
ness  was  but  his  coat  of  mail ;  when  he  came 
forth  unarmed  from  his  dark  chamber,  and  was 
left  at  ease  to  enjoy  his  friends,  then,  even  in 
later  years  when  the  gifts  of  youth  had  left  him, 
women  young  and  old  found  him  charming, 
younger  men  admired  his  refined,  scholarly  face, 
his  gentle  manners,  and  recognized  too  his  "boy 
ish  freshness  of  feeling  and  nature."  To  men  of 
his  own  age  he  was  "  a  most  entertaining  com 
panion."  When  some  gentlemen  in  Boston,  in 
terested  in  art  and  letters,  organized  the  St. 
Botolph  Club,  he  was  chosen  president,  not 
merely  because  he  was  a  distinguished  man  of 
letters,  but  because  he  was  a  good  fellow  and 
delightful  company. 

He  belonged  to  the  generation  that  in  creed 
represented  the  reaction  against  Puritanism  ;  he 
could  remember  the  pinch  of  the  vanishing  Pu 
ritan  oppression,  and  was  not  born  late  enough 
to  look  at  it  with  the  eyes  of  the  succeeding  gen 
eration,  —  those  eyes  to  which  that  generation 
modestly  ascribes  such  perfect  vision.  He  was 
strongly  averse  to  the  Puritan  creed,  to  their 


308  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

theocracy,  their  narrowness,  their  injustice,  and 
perhaps  did  not  see  how  closely  their  virtues 
resembled  his  own,  —  courage,  fortitude,  love 
of  truth  as  they  saw  it,  and  a  passionate  ardor 
in  pursuing  their  ends.  Like  them,  he  went  un 
troubled  by  doubts  ;  he  made  up  his  mind  and 
was  indifferent  to  disagreement.  Like  them,  he 
was  immensely  conservative:  the  inheritance  from 
the  past  must  be  held  to;  the  dreams  of  men, 
discontented  with  the  lot  meted  to  them  and 
their  fellows,  —  dreams  of  new  forms  of  society, 
new  conceptions  of  social  order,  were  to  him 
delusions  of  vanity  rigidly  to  be  pushed  away. 
He  deemed  New  England  of  a  generation  or 
more  ago  "  perhaps  the  most  successful  demo 
cracy  on  earth,"  but  the  growth  and  development 
of  modern  democracy  filled  him  with  detesta 
tion  ;  he  beheld  in  it  "  organized  ignorance,  led 
by  unscrupulous  craft,  and  marching,  amid  the 
applause  of  fools,  under  the  flag  of  equal  rights." 
He  felt  strongly  on  new  theories,  just  as  his  an 
cestors  the  Cottons,  or  their  friends  the  Mathers, 
would  have  felt,  and  he  spoke  forcibly  just  as 
they  would  have  done.  "  Out  of  the  wholesome 
fruits  of  the  earth,  and  the  staff  of  life  itself, 
the  perverse  chemistry  of  man  distills  delirious 
vapors,  which,  condensed  and  bottled,  exalt  his 
brain  with  glorious  fantasies,  and  then  leave 
him  in  the  mud."  So  it  is  (for  example),  he 


CHARACTER  AND  OPINIONS  309 

says,  with  those  deluded  people  who  are  in  favor 
of  woman  suffrage. 

Not  that  he  did  not  admire  and  respect  wo 
men,  —  he  did,  for  cause  passing  common,  —  but 
he  did  not  like  the  notion  of  woman  suffrage. 
On  a  loose  sheet  shut  into  a  notebook  kept  in 
Bemis  Camps  in  1886  is  this  entry :  "  The  first 
and  fundamental  requisites  of  women,  as  of  men, 
are  physical,  moral,  and  mental  health.  It  is  for 
men  to  rear  the  political  superstructure  ;  it  is 
for  women  to  lay  its  foundation.  God  rules  the 
world  by  fixed  laws,  moral  and  physical;  and 
according  as  men  and  women  observe  or  violate 
these  laws  will  be  the  destinies  of  communities 
and  individuals  for  this  world  and  the  next. 
The  higher  education  is  necessary  to  the  higher 
order  of  women  to  the  end  that  they  may  dis 
charge  their  function  of  civilizing  agent ;  but  it 
should  be  cautiously  limited  to  the  methods  and 
degree  that  consist  with  the  discharge  of  their 
functions  of  maternity.  Health  of  body  and  mind 
is  the  one  great  essential.  In  America  men 
are  belittled  and  cramped  by  the  competition  of 
business,  from  which  women  are,  or  ought  to  be, 
free.  Hence  they  have  opportunities  of  moral 
and  mental  growth  better  in  some  respects  than 
those  of  men." 

There  was  a  grim  vigor  in  his  speech  on  these 
distasteful  subjects,  that  betrayed  the  Puritan 


310  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

character.  Perhaps  this  masculine  vigor,  this 
rude  iinmalleability,  make  a  special  charm  to  a 
younger  generation  bred  upon  a  somewhat  milk 
and  water  skepticism  for  principles  and  theories, 
whether  old  or  new.  He  was  masculine  in  his 
outlook  on  life  and  on  all  its  chief  matters.  He 
despised  effeminacy,  self-coddling,  comfort-lov 
ing  ;  hardly  less  also  he  disliked  the  coddling  of 
others,  the  "  effusive  humanitarianism  "  of  New 
England  "  melting  into  sentimentality  at  a  tale 
of  woe,"  as  he  called  it,  that  tended  to  concen 
trate  interest  and  sympathy  on  the  feeble  rather 
than  on  the  strong  and  self-sustaining.  He  liked 
a  masculine  judgment,  readiness  not  un tempered 
by  a  heady  vigor,  but  devoid  of  sentimental  sur 
charge  ;  he  could  not  tolerate  fanaticism.  There 
fore  in  the  slavery  days  he  was  out  of  patience 
with  the  abolitionists  of  Massachusetts,  men,  as 
he  thought,  of  a  feminine  intemperance,  of  un- 
masculine  mawkishness,  who  neglected  the  real 
ideals  of  the  country  for  the  benefit  of  a  few 
scattered  fugitives  of  an  inferior  race,  which 
had  not  the  pluck  to  strike  a  blow  for  itself. 

It  was  this  belief  that  men  should  be  mascu 
line  that  led  him  to  the  natural  corollary  that 
women  should  be  feminine.  Like  other  men  of 
a  male  temper,  he  enjoyed  the  distinctive  fem 
inine  traits,  unreasoning  sympathy,  instinctive 
comprehension,  absolute  self-abnegation,  delicate 


CHARACTER   AND   OPINIONS  311 

sensibility.  He  took  great  pleasure  in  the  soci 
ety  of  women,  and  in  their  company  was  wont 
to  drop  most  freely  the  outer  semblance  of  the 
warrior,  that  blending  of  sternness  and  determi 
nation,  which  others  sometimes  found  in  him. 
This  wish  always  to  keep  the  two  types,  mu 
tually  complementary,  separate  and  apart,  lay 
at  the  bottom  of  his  putting  Washington  so 
much  higher  than  Lincoln  as  a  hero  ;  for  the 
womanly  tenderness  of  Lincoln  seemed  to  him 
out  of  place.  He  liked  a  man  who  could  get 
angry  in  time  of  need,  and  vent  his  anger  in 
blunt,  rough  words. 

By  his  creed  and  by  his  practice  he  belonged 
to  the  sect  of  the  Stoics,  a  disciple  worthy  of 
the  sect's  happiest  days  ;  his  favorite  virtue  was 
fortitude,  and  of  all  men  of  philosophic  mind, 
Marcus  Aurelius  was  his  accepted  pattern.  In 
his  youth  he  jotted  down  in  his  private  diary 
his  resistance  to  the  strongest  temptation  that 
assails  the  body ;  and  his  manhood  was  a  con 
stant  obedience  to  self-restraint,  in  order  that  he 
might  fulfill  his  work.  In  spirit  he  was  always 
mindful  of  the  noble  emperor's  words,  "Take 
care  always  to  remember  that  you  are  a  man  and 
a  Roman ;  and  let  every  action  be  done  with 
perfect  and  unaffected  gravity,  humanity,  free 
dom,  and  justice."  His  friends  bear  witness  that 
again  and  again  he  had  to  restrain  his  vehement 


312  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

impulses  to  rash  speech  or  action;  again  and 
a^ain  with  a  calm  exterior  batten  the  hatches  on 

O 

a  mutinous  mood.  This  antique  Puritan,  with 
fire  fetched  from  Devon  burning  within  him, 
took  care  to  remember  that  he  was  a  man  and 
a  gentleman,  and  bore  himself  with  gentleness 
and  justice. 

Perhaps  his  aristocratic  bent  helped  him  to 
self-control.  In  this  bent  there  was  no  touch  of 
vainglory,  no  trace  of  a  willingness  to  live  upon 
the  good  report  of  ancestors ;  but  a  notion,  in 
part  begotten  no  doubt  from  the  general  social 
theories  prevalent  in  the  stately  old  house  in 
Bowdoin  Square,  in  part  based  on  reasoning, 
and  justified  by  his  purpose  to  prove  that  his 
place  was  beside  the  best.  We  may  perceive  his 
views  of  men,  when  he  speaks  of  the  rose :  — 

Like  all  things  living,  in  the  world  of  mind 
or  of  matter,  the  rose  is  beautified,  enlarged,  and 
strengthened  by  a  course  of  judicious  and  per 
severing  culture,  continued  through  successive 
generations.  The  art  of  horticulture  is  no  lev- 
eler.  Its  triumphs  are  achieved  by  rigid  systems 
of  selection  and  rejection,  founded  always  on  the 
broad  basis  of  intrinsic  worth.  The  good  culti 
vator  propagates  no  plants  but  the  best.  He 
carefully  chooses  those  marked  out  by  conspicu 
ous  merit ;  protects  them  from  the  pollen  of  in 
ferior  sorts;  intermarries  them,  perhaps,  with 
other  varieties  of  equal  vigor  and  beauty  ;  saves 


CHARACTER   AND   OPINIONS  313 

their  seed,  and  raises  from  it  another  generation. 
From  the  new  plants  thus  obtained  he  again 
chooses  the  best,  and  repeats  with  them  the  same 
process.  Thus  the  rose  and  other  plants  are 
brought  slowly  to  their  perfect  development.  It 
is  in  vain  to  look  for  much  improvement  by 
merely  cultivating  one  individual.  We  cultivate 
the  parent,  and  look  for  our  reward  in  the  off- 


Such  was  his  theory,  and  if  we  meet  with  a 
little  lift  of  the  eyebrows,  a  little  look  askant, 
when  he  regards  nouveaux  riches,  we  know  that 
the  movement  was  due  not  to  snobbery,  but  to 
what  he  deemed  personal  and  inherited  experi 
ence.  In  a  notebook  kept  while  he  was  overseer 
of  Harvard  College,  there  are  memoranda  of 
notes  of  opinions  gathered  from  the  older  pro 
fessors  ;  and  among  other  opinions  is  this,  which 
evidently  squared  satisfactorily  with  his  own 
conclusions,  —  "  The  best  class  of  students  are 
those  of  families  of  inherited  wealth  or  easy 
means,  sons  of  nouveaux  riches  do  not  make 
scholars."  But  such  a  feeling  never  degener 
ated  into  a  class  spirit.  Speaking  on  a  subject 
in  which  he  took  a  deep  interest,  he  says  :  — 

The  public  schools,  moreover,  are  democratic 
institutions  in  the  best  sense  of  the  words ;  and, 
on  a  broader  and  more  comprehensive  scale, 
they  produce  the  effects  which  are  said  to  be  the 
peculiar  advantages  of  the  great  English  en- 


314  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

dowed  schools.  They  bring  together  children  of 
different  walks  in  life,  and  weaken  mutual  pre 
judices  by  force  of  mutual  contact,  teach  the  rich 
to  know  the  poor,  and  the  poor  to  know  the  rich, 
and  so  sap  the  foundations  of  class  jealousies 
and  animosities.  The  common  schools  are  cru 
cibles  in  which  races,  nationalities,  and  creeds 
are  fused  together  till  all  alike  become  Ameri 
can. 

But  his  books  reveal  his  character  better  than 
I  can  suggest  it,  not  only  by  their  obvious  admi 
rations,  but  by  their  reticence.  The  historian 
never  mentions  himself  except  to  point  a  foot 
note  ;  he  wears  the  dignified  ermine  of  historic 
impartiality,  but  a  generous  heart  cannot  hide 
itself.  By  his  loves  he  shall  be  known.  Nobody 
can  read  the  pages  on  Champlain,  on  La  Salle, 
Brebeuf,  or  Wolfe,  and  not  know  that  these  are 
the  heroes  whose  high  deeds  quickened  a  kin 
dred  soul. 

Yet  the  reader  would  not  know,  nor  would  an 
acquaintance  in  life  have  guessed,  that  this  stu 
dious  gentleman,  with  his  firm  jaw  and  his  schol 
arly  brow,  of  decided  views  and  occasional  bursts 
of  vigorous  speech,  was  tenderly  sensitive  to  sym 
pathy.  The  show  of  unwarranted  compassion  or 
officious  pity  from  some  person  outside  the  inner 
circle  of  those  that  loved  him  was  coldly  pushed 
aside ;  but  real  sympathy,  offered  as  one  manly 
man  may  offer  it  to  another,  or  tendered  by  a 


CHARACTER  AND   OPINIONS  315 

woman  who  had  the  right  to  tender  it,  when  ex 
pressed  with  reticence  and  restraint,  or  indicated 
in  action  rather  than  speech,  went  straight  to  his 
heart.  It  was  more  acceptable  to  him  even  than 
fame,  and  he  was  very  ambitious. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A   MORE   INTIMATE   CHAPTER 

THE  story  of  a  scholar  is  uneventful ;  it  is  made 
up  of  travels,  rummagings,  notes,  dictation,  and 
printing;  it  lies  far  from  the  madding  crowd, 
remote  from  the  bustle  of  politics  and  the  creak 
ing  machinery  of  national  life.  Parkman's  infirm 
ities  intensified  this  seclusion  ;  they  forced  him 
to  sport  his  oak  against  all  except  extreme  inti 
macy,  and  intimacy  is  shy  of  the  chronicler ;  but 
a  biography  with  no  allusion  to  intimacy  is  but 
a  shell,  a  case,  a  cover,  and  lets  the  reader  carry 
away  an  impression  that  the  man  had  none  of 
those  close  affections  that  reveal  themselves  in 
trifling  commerce,  in  looks,  in  smiles,  and  silence. 
This  intimacy  of  Parkman's  needs  a  pen  plucked 
u  from  an  angel's  wing,"  for  his  deepest  feelings 
radiated  from  his  presence,  and  no  one  could  say 
just  how  they  had  been  expressed  ;  and  part  of 
it  should  be  told  by  Robin  Goodfellow,  for  his 
playfulness,  his  fun,  his  fondness  for  nonsense, 
pass  in  the  telling. 

He  spent  his  life  between  the  town  house  — 


A  MORE  INTIMATE  CHAPTER          317 

his  mother's  during  her  life,  then  his  sister's  — 
and  his  country  house  at  Jamaica  Plain;  they 
were  his  guests  in  summer,  he  theirs  in  winter. 
At  50  Chestnut  Street  he  had  the  top  floor  as  his 
apartment,  his  bedroom  to  the  south,  his  study 
to  the  north.  The  stairs  that  lead  thither  have  a 
half-fulfilled  inclination  to  wind  ;  in  later  years,  a 
little  elevator  for  his  private  use  spared  him  the 
stairs  he  often  could  not  climb.  The  study  was 
his  home,  for  illness  prevented  him  from  taking 
an  ordinary  part  in  family  life.  He  came  down 
to  breakfast,  lunch,  and  dinner,  but  was  gen 
erally  silent,  and  went  up  again  directly  after 
the  meal  was  finished.  In  the  study  he  spent 
his  time,  working  when  he  could.  One  winter 
he  employed  a  young  woman,  a  public  school 
teacher,  as  his  amanuensis ;  she  was  wholly  ig 
norant  of  French,  and  read  the  copied  archives 
with  a  pure  Yankee  pronunciation.  But  all  the 
rest  of  the  time,  his  sister  or  some  member  of 
his  family  wrote  for  him  while  he  dictated.  In 
somnia  kept  him  awake  at  night,  and  during 
these  wakeful  hours,  and  also  in  the  long  periods 
of  repose  during  the  day,  he  would  think  of  his 
writing,  and  put  sentence  to  sentence  and  para 
graph  to  paragraph,  so  that  when  he  began  to 
dictate  he  proceeded  in  orderly  progress  as  if  he 
were  reading  from  a  book.  Thus,  barring  the 
interruptions  of  illness,  he  proceeded  day  by  day, 


318  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

until  chapter  was  added  to  chapter,  volume  to 
volume,  and  the  whole  at  last  finished. 

The  "  gridirons  "  were  used  in  earlier  years,  at 
times  from  1850  to  1860.  There  were  three  of 
these  in  all,  very  much  alike,  the  later  ones  hav 
ing  being  made  to  improve  on  the  earlier  model. 
The  last  is  a  little  metal  frame  twelve  inches  by 
eight,  with  wire  bars  running  across  like  lines 
on  ruled  paper,  some  sixteen  in  all.  Underneath 
this  grill  the  sheet  of  paper  was  slipped  in,  with 
a  metal  back  to  write  on.  With  this  contrivance, 
following  the  wire  by  touch,  he  could  write  in 
the  dark  without  looking.  It  is  an  eloquent  wit 
ness,  — 

"  Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make 
Nor  iron  bars  a  cage,"  — 

nor  blindness,  nor  pain,  nor  manifold  privations 
to  the  man  of  heroic  temper. 

In  the  evening  Miss  Parkman  would  read 
aloud  to  him  books  of  various  kinds,  novels  often. 
He  liked  a  good,  strong  story,  like  "Monte 
Cristo "  or  "  The  Wandering  Jew,"  or  some 
Classic  like  Miss  Austen's  novels  or  "  Evelina ;  " 
just  as  in  early  days  he  had  loved  Cooper  and 
Scott.  Poetry  he  liked,  but  not  all.  Wordsworth 
he  could  not  bear,  Byron  he  enjoyed  ;  but  he  al 
most  always  had  a  volume  of  Shakespeare  on  his 
table,  often  open  ;  sometimes  he  was  able  to  read 
a  few  lines,  but  commonly  the  silent  presence  was 


A  MORE  INTIMATE  CHAPTER          319 

enough.  One  of  his  last  gifts  to  his  wife  was  a 
fine  copy  of  Milton. 

After  his  mother  died,  two  nieces,  the  daugh 
ters  of  his  sister  Caroline,  Mrs.  Cordner,  were 
frequent  inmates  of  the  house,  and  they,  with 
Miss  Parkman,  were  the  only  confidantes  of  his 
wilder  nonsense.  To  his  friends  he  passed  as  a 
man  rather  lacking  in  humor,  rather  inclined  to 
take  statements  au  pied  de  la  lettre  ;  but  in  the 
summer  time,  the  tap  of  the  cane  coming  down 
stairs  was  the  reveille  for  jokes  and  nonsense. 
The  audience  was  on  tiptoe  with  expectation, 
and  the  performance  was  always  received  with 
fullest  appreciation  ;  and  even  if  brother  and 
sister  were  alone,  the  humor,  if  less  boisterous, 
was  gay.  The  cheer  was  no  counterfeit,  but  born 
of  an  honest  gratitude  for  the  happy  things  in 
life ;  it  also  served  to  hide  his  pain  from  the 
others,  and  even  from  himself,  for  he  could  not 
take  part  in  ordinary  conversation,  and  silence 
had  a  painful  physical  effect  on  him. 

As  it  was  with  his  nonsense,  so  too  it  was  with 
his  intimate  tenderness,  only  those  who  lived 
under  the  same  roof  with  him  realized  it  to  the 
full.  His  daughters  and  his  little  nieces  used  to 
make  him  visits  twice  a  year,  —  two  months  in 
the  spring  and  two  in  the  autumn  ;  they  used  to 
be  at  that  breakfast-table,  giggling  for  the  non 
sense  to  come,  and  they  knew  how  to  read  the 


320  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

tenderness  in  his  eye,  and  did  not  need  to  wait 
for  words,  for  they  knew  that  the  "  horse  hur- 
raut "  had  great  difficulty  with  those  most  clumsy 
instruments  for  expressing  tenderness  —  English 
monosyllables.  The  visits  were  always  at  Jamaica 
Pond,  and  one  of  them  would  row  with  him  in 
the  boat,  or  go  a-visiting  the  roses  and  the  lilies ; 
or  he  would  help  them  to  disentangle  the  fish- 
line  and  bait  the  hook,  or,  it  might  be,  arrange 
the  aquatic  flora  and  fauna  in  their  little  aqua 
rium  ;  or  when  they  said  good-by,  he  would  go 
to  the  greenhouse  to  choose  a  plant  for  them  ; 
and  here  they  found  that  the  language  of  flowers 
was  also  far  better  than  that  of  the  dictionary. 
These  nieces,  too,  bear  witness  to  his  triumphant 
self-mastery ;  during  all  the  years  from  their 
childhood  to  womanhood,  —  in  town,  when  they 
were  not  staying  in  the  same  house,  they  lived 
across  the  street  and  ran  in  daily,  —  during  all 
these  years  they  never  once  heard  an  impatient 
word  fall  from  his  lips,  they  never  once  saw  an 
impatient  look;  they  merely  could  divine  that 
he  would  not  let  them  be  troubled  by  his  pain. 
This  is  the  triumph  of  stoicism,  of  the  sweet 
stoicism  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  mingled  in  no 
small  measure  with  the  teachings  of  the  Gali 
lean  fisherman. 

Thus  I  come  to  the  end  of  this  uneventful 
story ;   but  there  are  a  few  more  pages  to  com- 


A  MORE  INTIMATE  CHAPTER          321 

plete  this  little  picture  of  his  later  life  and  its 
intimacies.  At  Jamaica  Plain,  in  those  latter 
days,  —  when  gardening  and  horticultural  prizes 
were  things  of  the  past,  —  every  morning  he  and 
his  sister  went  rowing.  This  pond  is  not  very 
big,  and  does  not  afford  a  great  variety  of  scene 
nor  of  incident,  and  the  dreary  repetition  had  to 
be  enriched  by  art.  Here  Parkman  gave  loose 
rein  to  his  boyish  imagination.  Every  afternoon 
they  went  for  a  drive,  with  Michael,  the  gardener, 
—  known  to  his  intimates  as  Mike,  —  driving. 
Parkman  had  no  natural  love  for  a  carriage  ;  the 
"horse  hurrant"  despised  the  slow  and  tedious 
monotony  of  the  inevitable  road,  but  his  fancy 
filled  the  borders  of  the  way  with  historic  scenes, 
and  would  not  permit  his  helplessness  to  darken 
their  horizon. 

Parkman  was  very  fond  of  cats,  and  though 
they  were  rigidly  excluded  from  the  library,  in 
the  evening  there  was  always  a  cat  —  Peter  or 
Sarah  or  Molly  —  who  sat  on  his  lap,  or  curled 
on  the  rug  and  purred  its  thoughts  into  a  most 
sympathetic  ear.  He  had  always  had  a  weakness 
for  them.  Once  when  Miss  Parkman  was  in 
Paris,  we  find  him  writing,  1872,  a  year  or  two 
after  the  siege  of  Paris,  "  You  are  also  to  be 
congratulated  on  the  discovery  of  two  Angoras, 
which  I  trust  were  favorable  specimens.  There 
used  to  be  a  good  one  in  the  lodge  of  the  con- 


322  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

cierge  at  No.  123  Av.  de  Champs  Elysees,  but 
the  accidents  of  war  may  have  removed  her  from 
the  sphere  which  she  adorned  and  consigned  her 
to  the  frying-pan." 

He  makes  a  point  of  the  Angora  blood  here, 
but  that  is  an  affectation ;  good  cats,  bad  cats, 
lean  cats,  fat  cats,  well-bred  or  wayfarers,  ears 
torn,  tailless,  young  and  old,  had  some  claim 
on  his  interest.  He  liked  nothing  better  than  to 
sit  in  summer  time  on  the  veranda  festooned 
with  wisteria,  and  stroke  a  little  cat,  and  listen 
to  its  purring,  and  help  it  to  make  itself  per 
fectly  comfortable  on  his  lap.  Not  only  cats, 
but  pictures  of  cats,  photographs  of  cats,  effigies 
of  cats  abounded.  In  especial  there  was  one 
flannel  likeness,  whiskered  with  red  silk,  eyed 
with  green  beads,  and  featured  pathetically  with 
cotton  thread,  presented  to  him  by  his  little 
granddaughter.  When  he  went  to  Portsmouth 
to  pay  her  his  summer  visit,  he  tucked  this  flan 
nel  slander  of  a  cat  under  his  coat  and  brought 
it  forth  triumphantly,  she  believing  that  it  had 
been  cherished  next  his  waistcoat  all  the  winter. 
He  had  played  the  same  comedy  with  the  child's 
mother  when  she  was  a  little  girl. 

MY  DEAR  KATY,  —  Me  and  Creem  are  wel. 
We  send  u  our  luv.  We  do  not  fite  now.  We 
have  milk  every  day.  One  day,  when  i  was  play 
ing  under  the  evergreens,  Creem  would  not  lap 


A  MORE  INTIMATE  CHAPTER          323 

her  milk  till  she  had  come  out  and  told  me  that 
it  was  reddy,  and  we  both  went  and  lapped  it 
together.  Papa  holds  me  every  night  to  keep 
me  tame.  .  .  .  Yors  till  deth, 

FLORA,  her  m  x  ark  [mark]. 

(I  struggled  so,  my  paw  has  not  made  a  good 
mark.) 

P.  S.    Plese  bring  me  a  skulpin. 

P.  P.  S.  Papa  says  to  thank  Grace  for  her 
letter,  and  he  is  glad  she  is  having  such  a  good 
time. 

N.  B.  This  is  a  lok  of  my  fer,  with  best  luv 
of  Yors  in  haste,  Puss.  [Lock  of  fur  fastened 
on.] 


The  cats  returned  his  affection,  and  loved  to 
curl  their  backs,  and  rub  up  against  his  legs. 

His  own  children,  after  their  mother's  death, 
had  gone  to  live  with  their  aunt,  Miss  Bigelow, 
who  brought  them  up  as  if  they  had  been  her 
own,  so  that  Parkman  was  spared  the  care  he 
could  not  give  and  yet  had  the  pleasure  of  see 
ing  them  constantly,  for  Dr.  Bigelow's  house  was 
hard  by.  In  the  early  summer  and  again  in  the 
autumn  they  made  him  a  visit  at  Jamaica  Plain. 
The  elder  daughter,  Grace,  took  her  chief  plea 
sure  in  the  pond  and  the  boat,  but  the  younger, 
Katy,  liked  the  garden  best,  and  every  morn 
ing  trudged  after  her  father,  basket  in  hand,  as 
he  walked  down  the  paths  with  his  campstool 
under  his  arm  on  the  matinal  expedition  to  cut 


324  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

flowers  for  the  house  or  to  send  to  his  friends. 
Whatever  different  occupations  the  three  might 
find  during  the  day,  at  dusk  they  met  at  his  sofa 
in  the  "  ante-room,"  where  he  narrated  story  after 
story  with  Grace  sitting  beside  him,  and  Katy 
perched  on  the  back  of  the  sofa.  He  inspired 
them  with  deep  respect,  affection,  and  admira 
tion. 

In  later  years,  after  his  daughters  were  mar 
ried,  when  on  the  whole  he  suffered  less  and  had 
the  sustaining  sense  that  his  work  was  substan 
tially  finished,  he  enjoyed  his  grandchildren  very 
much,  letting  them  see,  perhaps,  more  of  his 
tender,  playful  side  than  he  had  been  able  to 
show  to  their  parents.  So  his  life  went  by,  loved 
by  his  cats,  his  family,  his  friends,  his  kindred, 
and  his  fellow  historians ;  and  it  was  cheered 
and  brightened  by  kind  and  generous  expressions 
of  affection,  on  such  occasions  as  when  he  re 
signed  from  the  presidency  of  the  St.  Botolph 
Club,  or  attained  his  seventieth  year. 

I  am  not  sure  that  I  have  spoken  enough  of 
his  gentleness,  and  I  have  said  too  little  of  his 
modesty.  John  Fiske  was  once  delivering  a  lec 
ture  on  "  America's  Place  in  History,"  at  Haw 
thorne  Hall,  in  Boston;  he  alluded  to  Pontiac 
and  his  conspiracy,  and  said  that  it  was  memo 
rable  as  "  the  theme  of  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
and  fascinating  books  that  have  ever  been  writ- 


A  MORE  INTIMATE   CHAPTER          325 

ten  by  any  historian  since  the  days  of  Herodotus." 
The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  when 
he  caught  sight  of  Parkman  in  the  audience.  He 
says,  "  I  shall  never  forget  the  sudden  start  which 
he  gave,  and  the  heightened  color  of  his  noble 
face,  with  its  curious  look  of  surprise  and  plea 
sure,  an  expression  as  honest  and  simple  as  one 
might  witness  in  a  rather  shy  schoolboy  sud 
denly  singled  out  for  praise.  I  was  so  glad  that 
I  had  said  what  I  did  without  thinking  of  his 
hearing  me." 

Parkman's  memory  is  linked  forever  with  the 
first  great  epoch  in  American  history;  and  a 
memorial  in  stone  is  to  be  placed  near  the  edge 
of  Jamaica  Pond  hard  by  the  dock  from  which 
he  used  to  push  his  little  boat  when  he  and  his 
sister  went  for  their  daily  row  around  the  pond. 
Two  great  monoliths  will  stand,  one  on  each 
side  of  a  stone  seat ;  in  one  the  sculptor  has 
carved  the  figure  of  an  Indian,  in  the  other  an 
image  of  the  Spirit  of  the  Woods,  —  the  com 
rades  of  Parkman's  boyhood. 

After  this  it  was  noised  abroad  that  Mr.  Val- 
iant-for- Truth  was  taken  with  a  summons.  .  .  . 
When  he  understood  it,  he  called  for  his  friends, 
and  told  them  of  it.  Then  said  he,  ..."  though 
with  great  difficulty  I  have  got  hither,  yet  now 
I  do  not  repent  me  of  all  the  trouble  I  have  been 
at  to  arrive  where  I  am.  My  sword  I  give  to 


326  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

him  that  shall  succeed  me  in  my  pilgrimage,  and 
my  courage  and  skill  to  him  that  can  get  it.  My 
marks  and  scars  I  carry  with  me."  .  .  . 

When  the  day  that  he  must  go  hence  was 
come,  many  accompanied  him  to  the  river-side, 
into  which  as  he  went  he  said,  "  Death,  where 
is  thy  sting?"  And  as  he  went  down  deeper, 
he  said,  "  Grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ? "  So 
he  passed  over,  and  all  the  trumpets  sounded 
on  the  other  side. 


APPENDIX 


LETTER  written  to  Mr.  Martin  Brimmer  in  1886, 
with  instructions  to  be  kept  until  after  Park- 
man's  death,  and  then  to  be  given  to  the  Mas 
sachusetts  Historical  Society :  — 

MY  DEAR  BRIMMER,  —  I  once  told  you  that  I 
should  give  you  some  account  of  the  circumstances 
under  which  my  books  were  written.  Here  it  is,  with 
some  preliminary  pages  to  explain  the  rest.  I  am 
sorry  there  is  so  much  of  it :  — 

Causes  antedating  my  birth  gave  me  constitutional 
liabilities  to  which  I  largely  ascribe  the  mischief  that 
ensued.  As  a  child  I  was  sensitive  and  restless,  rarely 
ill,  but  never  robust.  At  eight  years  I  was  sent  to  a 
farm  belonging  to  my  maternal  grandfather  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  extensive  tract  of  wild  and  rough 
woodland  now  called  Middlesex  Fells.  I  walked 
twice  a  day  to  a  school  of  high  but  undeserved  repu 
tation  about  a  mile  distant,  in  the  town  of  Medford. 
Here  I  learned  very  little,  and  spent  the  intervals  of 
schooling  more  profitably  in  collecting  eggs,  insects, 
and  reptiles,  trapping  squirrels  and  woodchucks,  and 
making  persistent  though  rarely  fortunate  attempts 


328  APPENDIX 

to  kill  birds  with  arrows.  After  four  years  of  this 
rustication  I  was  brought  back  to  Boston,  when  I  was 
unhappily  seized  with  a  mania  for  experiments  in 
chemistry  involving  a  lonely,  confined,  unwholesome 
sort  of  life,  baneful  to  body  and  mind.  This  lasted 
till  the  critical  age  of  fifteen,  when  a  complete  change 
came  over  me  —  I  renounced  crucibles  and  retorts 
and  took  to  books;  read  poetry  and  fancied  for  a 
while  that  I  could  write  it ;  conceived  literary  ambi 
tions,  and,  at  the  same  time,  began  to  despise  a  liter 
ary  life  and  to  become  enamored  of  the  backwoods. 
This  new  passion  —  which  proved  permanent  —  was 
no  doubt  traceable  in  part  to  fond  recollections  of  the 
Middlesex  Fells,  as  well  as  to  one  or  two  journeys 
which  I  was  permitted  to  make  into  some  of  the 
wilder  parts  of  New  England.  It  soon  got  full  pos 
session  of  me,  and  mixed  itself  with  all  my  literary 
aspirations.  In  this  state  of  mind  I  went  to  college, 
where  I  divided  my  time  about  equally  between  books 
and  active  exercises,  of  which  last  I  grew  inordinately 
fond,  and  in  which  I  was  ambitious  beyond  measure 
to  excel. 

My  favorite  backwoods  were  always  in  my  thoughts. 
At  first  I  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  I  could  woo 
this  new  mistress  in  verse ;  then  I  came  down  to  fic 
tion,  and  at  last  reached  the  sage  though  not  flattering 
conclusion  that  if  I  wanted  to  build  in  her  honor  any 
monument  that  would  stand,  I  must  found  on  solid 
fact.  Before  the  end  of  the  sophomore  year  my  vari 
ous  schemes  had  crystallized  into  a  plan  of  writing 
the  story  of  what  was  thus  known  as  the  "  Old  French 


APPENDIX  329 

War ; "  that  is,  the  war  that  ended  in  the  conquest 
of  Canada ;  for  here,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  the  forest 
drama  was  more  stirring  and  the  forest  stage  more 
thronged  with  appropriate  actors  than  in  any  other 
passage  of  our  history.  It  was  not  till  some  years 
later  that  I  enlarged  the  plan  to  include  the  whole 
course  of  the  American  conflict  between  France  and 
England  ;  or,  in  other  words,  the  history  of  the  Amer 
ican  forest ;  for  this  was  the  light  in  which  I  regarded 
it.  My  theme  fascinated  me,  and  I  was  haunted  with 
wilderness  images  day  and  night. 

From  this  time  forward,  two  ideas  possessed  me. 
One  was  to  paint  the  forest  and  its  tenants  in  true 
and  vivid  colors ;  the  other  was  to  realize  a  certain 
ideal  of  manhood,  a  little  mediaeval,  but  nevertheless 
good.  Feeling  that  I  fell  far  short  of  it,  I  proceeded 
in  extreme  dissatisfaction  to  apply  heroic  remedies. 
I  held  the  creed  that  the  more  hard  knocks  a  man 
gets,  whether  in  mind  or  body,  the  better  for  him, 
provided  always  that  he  takes  them  without  flinching ; 
and  as  the  means  of  forcing  myself  up  to  the  required 
standard,  I  put  my  faith  in  persistent  violence  which 
I  thought  energy.  I  held  that  the  true  aim  of  life 
was  not  happiness  but  achievement ;  had  profound  re 
spect  for  physical  strength  and  hardihood  when  joined 
with  corresponding  qualities  of  character ;  took  plea 
sure  in  any  moderate  hardship,  scorned  invalidism  of 
all  kinds,  and  was  full  of  the  notion,  common  enough 
with  boys  of  a  certain  sort,  that  the  body  will  always 
harden  and  toughen  with  exercise  and  exposure.  I 
remember  to  have  had  a  special  aversion  for  the  Rev. 


330  APPENDIX 

Dr.  Charming,  not  for  his  heresies, ^>ut  for  his  meager 
proportions,  sedentary  habits,  environment  of  close 
air  and  female  parishioners,  and  his  preachments  of 
the  superiority  of  mind  over  matter ;  for,  while  I  had 
no  disposition  to  gainsay  his  proposition  in  the  ab 
stract,  it  was  a  cardinal  point  with  me  that  while  the 
mind  remains  a  habitant  of  earth,  it  cannot  dispense 
with  a  sound  material  basis,  and  that  to  neglect  and 
decry  the  corporeal  part  in  the  imagined  interest  of 
the  spiritual  is  proof  of  a  nature  either  emasculate 
or  fanatical.  For  my  own  part,  instead  of  neglect 
ing,  I  fell  to  lashing  and  spurring  it  into  vigor  and 
prosperity. 

Meanwhile  I  diligently  pursued  my  literary  scheme. 
While  not  exaggerating  the  importance  of  my  sub 
ject,  I  felt  that  it  had  a  peculiar  life  of  its  own,  of 
which  I  caught  tantalizing  glimpses,  to  me  irresistibly 
attractive.  I  felt  far  from  sure  that  I  was  equal  to 
the  task  of  rekindling  it,  calling  out  of  the  dust  the 
soul  and  body  of  it  and  making  it  a  breathing  reality. 
I  was  like  some  smitten  youth  plagued  with  harrow 
ing  doubts  as  to  whether  he  can  win  the  mistress  of 
his  fancy.  I  tried  to  gauge  my  own  faculties,  and  was 
displeased  with  the  result.  Nevertheless,  I  resolved 
that  if  my  steed  was  not  a  thoroughbred,  I  would  at 
least  get  his  best  paces  out  of  him,  and  I  set  myself 
to  a  strenuous  course  of  training  for  the  end  in  view. 
A  prime  condition  of  success  was  an  unwearied  delv 
ing  into  dusty  books  and  papers,  a  kind  of  work 
which  I  detested ;  and  I  came  to  the  agreeable  yet 
correct  conclusion  that  the  time  for  this  drudgery  was 


APPENDIX  331 

not  come ;  that  my  present  business  was,  so  to  speak, 
to  impregnate  myself  with  my  theme,  fill  my  mind 
with  impressions  from  real  life,  range  the  woods,  mix 
with  Indians  and  frontiersmen,  visit  the  scenes  of  the 
events  I  meant  to  describe,  and  so  bring  myself  as 
near  as  might  be  to  the  times  with  which  I  was  to 
deal.  Accordingly,  I  spent  all  my  summer  vacations 
in  the  woods  or  in  Canada,  at  the  same  time  reading 
such  books  as  I  thought  suited,  in  a  general  way,  to 
help  me  towards  my  object.  I  pursued  these  lucubra 
tions  with  a  pernicious  intensity,  keeping  my  plans 
and  purposes  to  myself,  while  passing  among  my  com 
panions  as  an  outspoken  fellow. 

The  danger  into  which  I  was  drifting  rose  from  the 
excessive  stimulus  applied  to  nerves  which  had  too 
much  stimulus  of  their  own.  I  was  not,  however,  at 
all  nervous  in  the  sense  in  which  that  term  is  com 
monly  understood,  and  I  regarded  nervous  people 
with  more  pity  than  esteem.  The  mischief  was  work 
ing  underground.  If  it  had  come  to  the  surface,  the 
effects  would  probably  have  been  less  injurious.  I 
flattered  myself  I  was  living  wisely  because  I  avoided 
the  more  usual  excesses,  but  I  fell  into  others  quite 
as  baneful,  riding  my  hobbies  with  unintermitting 
vehemence,  and  carrying  bodily  exercise  to  a  point 
where  it  fatigues  instead  of  strengthening.  In  short, 
I  burned  the  candle  at  both  ends. 

The  first  hint  that  my  method  of  life  was  not  to 
prove  a  success  occurred  in  my  junior  year,  in  the 
shape  of  a  serious  disturbance  in  the  action  of  the 
heart,  of  which  the  immediate  cause  was  too  violent 


a-52  APPENDIX 

exercise  in  the  gymnasium.  I  was  thereupon  ordered 
to  Europe,  where'  I  spent  the  greater  part  of  a  year, 
never  losing  sight  of  my  plans  and  learning  much 
that  helped  to  forward  them.  Returning  in  time  to 
graduate  with  my  class,  I  was  confronted  with  the 
inevitable  question,  What  next  ?  The  strong  wish  of 
my  father  that  I  should  adopt  one  of  the  so-called  regu 
lar  professions  determined  me  to  enter  the  Harvard 
Law  School. 

Here,  while  following  the  prescribed  courses  at  a 
quiet  pace,  I  entered  in  earnest  on  two  other  courses, 
one  of  general  history,  the  other  of  Indian  history  and 
ethnology,  and  at  the  same  time  studied  diligently  the 
models  of  English  style ;  which  various  pursuits  were 
far  from  excluding  the  pleasures  of  society.  In  the 
way  of  preparation  and  preliminary  to  my  principal 
undertaking,  I  now  resolved  to  write  the  history  of 
the  Indian  War  under  Pontiac,  as  offering  peculiar 
opportunities  for  exhibiting  forest  life  and  Indian 
character ;  and  to  this  end  I  began  to  collect  mate 
rials  by  travel  and  correspondence.  The  labor  was  not 
slight,  for  the  documents  were  widely  scattered  on 
both  sides  of  the  Atlantic ;  but  at  the  beginning  of 
1846  the  collection  was  nearly  complete. 

I  had  been  conscious  for  some  time  of  an  over- 
stimulated  condition  of  the  brain.  While  constantly 
reminding  myself  that  the  task  before  me  was  a  long 
one,  that  haste  was  folly,  and  that  the  slow  way  was 
the  surer  and  better  one,  I  felt  myself  spurred  for 
ward  irresistibly.  It  was  like  a  rider  whose  horse  has 
got  the  bit  between  his  teeth,  and  who,  while  seeing 


APPENDIX  333 

his  danger,  cannot  stop.  As  the  mischief  gave  no 
outward  sign,  nobody  was  aware  of  it  but  myself.  At 
last,  however,  a  weakness  of  the  eyes,  which  was  one 
of  its  symptoms,  increased  so  fast  that  I  was  forced 
to  work  with  the  eyes  of  others.  I  now  resolved  to 
execute  a  scheme  which  I  had  long  meditated.  This 
was  to  visit  the  wild  tribes  of  the  far  West,  and  live 
among  them  for  a  time,  as  a  necessary  part  of  train 
ing  for  my  work.  I  hoped  by  exchanging  books  and 
documents  for  horse  and  rifle  to  gain  three  objects  at 
once  —  health,  use  of  sight,  and  personal  knowledge 
of  savage  life.  The  attempt  did  not  prosper.  I  was 
attacked  on  the  plains  by  a  wasting  and  dangerous 
disorder,  which  had  not  ceased  when  I  returned  to 
the  frontier  five  months  later.  In  the  interval  I  was 
for  some  weeks  encamped  with  a  roving  band  of  Sioux 
at  the  Rocky  Mountains,  with  one  rough  though  not 
unfaithful  attendant.  It  would  have  been  suicidal 
to  accept  the  part  of  an  invalid,  and  I  was  sometimes 
all  day  in  the  saddle,  when  in  civilized  life  complete 
rest  would  have  been  thought  indispensable.  I  lived 
like  my  red  companions,  and  sometimes  joined  them 
in  their  hunting,  with  the  fatiguing  necessity  of  being 
always  armed  and  on  the  watch.  To  one  often  giddy 
with  the  exhaustion  of  disease,  the  strain  on  the  sys 
tem  was  great.  After  going  back  to  civilization,  the 
malady  gradually  subsided,  after  setting  in  action  a 
train  of  other  disorders  which  continued  its  work.  In 
a  year  or  more  I  was  brought  to  a  state  of  nervous 
prostration  that  debarred  all  mental  effort,  and  was 
attended  with  a  weakness  of  sight  that  for  a  time 


334  APPENDIX 

threatened  blindness.  Before  reaching  this  pass  I 
wrote  the  "  Oregon  Trail "  by  dictation.  Complete 
repose,  to  me  the  most  detestable  of  prescriptions,  was 
enjoined  upon  me,  and  from  intense  activity  I  found 
myself  doomed  to  helpless  inaction.  Such  chance  of 
success  as  was  left  lay  in  time,  patience,  and  a  studied 
tranquillity  of  spirit ;  and  I  felt,  with  extreme  disgust, 
that  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  renounce  past 
maxims  and  habits  and  embrace  others  precisely  the 
opposite.  An  impulse  seized  me  to  return  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  try  a  hair  of  the  dog  that  bit  me, 
and  settle  squarely  the  question  to  be  or  not  to  be.  It 
was  the  time  of  the  Mexican  War,  and  I  well  remem 
ber  with  what  envious  bitterness  I  looked  at  a  col 
ored  print  in  a  shop  window,  representing  officers 
and  men  carrying  a  field  battery  into  action  at  the 
battle  of  Buena  Vista.  I  believe  that  I  would  will 
ingly  have  borne  any  amount  of  bodily  pain,  pro 
vided  only  I  could  have  brought  with  it  the  power 
of  action. 

After  a  while  —  as  anything  was  better  than  idle 
ness —  I  resolved  on  cautiously  attempting  to  make 
use  of  the  documents  already  collected  for  the  "  Con 
spiracy  of  Pontiac."  They  were  read  to  me  by  friends 
and  relatives  at  times  when  the  brain  was  least  rebel 
lious,  and  I  wrote  without  use  of  sight,  by  means  of 
a  sort  of  literary  gridiron  or  frame  of  parallel  wires, 
laid  on  the  page  to  guide  the  hand.  For  some  months 
the  average  rate  of  progress  did  not  exceed  three  or 
four  lines  a  day,  and  the  chapters  thus  composed  were 
afterwards  rewritten.  If,  as  I  was  told,  brain  work 


APPENDIX  335 

was  poison,  the  dose  was  homeopathic  and  the  effect 
was  good,  for  within  a  year  I  could  generally  work, 
with  the  eyes  of  others,  two  hours  or  more  a  day,  and 
in  about  three  years  the  book  was  finished. 

I  then  began  to  gather  materials  for  the  earlier 
volumes  of  the  series  of  France  and  England  in  North 
America,  though,  as  I  was  prevented  from  traveling 
by  an  extreme  sensitiveness  of  the  retina  which  made 
sunlight  insupportable,  the  task  of  collection  seemed 
hopeless.  I  began,  however,  an  extensive  correspond 
ence,  and  was  flattering  myself  that  I  might  succeed 
at  last,  when  I  was  attacked  with  an  effusion  of  water 
on  the  knee,  which  subsided  in  two  or  three  months, 
then  returned,  kept  me  a  prisoner  for  two  years,  and 
deprived  me  of  necessary  exercise  for  several  years 
more.  The  consequence  was  that  the  devil  which  had 
been  partially  exorcised  returned  triumphant.  The 
evil  now  centred  in  the  head,  producing  cerebral 
symptoms  of  such  a  nature  that,  in  1853,  the  physi 
cian  who  attended  me  at  the  time,  after  cautious  cir 
cumlocution,  said  in  a  low  and  solemn  voice  that  his 
duty  required  him  to  warn  me  that  death  would  prob 
ably  follow  within  six  months,  and  stood  amazed  at 
the  smile  of  incredulity  with  which  the  announcement 
was  received.  I  had  known  my  enemy  longer  than 
he,  and  learned  that  its  mission  was  not  death,  but 
only  torment.  Five  years  later  another  physician  — 
an  eminent  physiologist  of  Paris,  where  I  then  was  — 
tried  during  the  whole  winter  to  discover  the  par 
ticular  manifestations  of  the  insanity  which  he  was 
convinced  must  needs  attend  the  symptoms  he  had 


336  APPENDIX 

observed,  and  told  me  at  last  what  he  had  been  about. 
"  What  conclusion  have  you  reached  ? "  I  asked. 
"That  I  never  knew  a  saner  man  in  my  life." 
"  But,"  said  I,  "  what  is  the  chance  that  this  brain  of 
mine  will  ever  get  into  working  order  again  ?  "  He 
shook  his  head  and  replied,  "  It  is  not  impossible  "  — 
with  which  I  was  forced  to  content  myself. 

Between  1852  and  1860  this  cerebral  rebellion 
passed  through  great  and  seemingly  capricious  fluctu 
ations.  It  had  its  ebbs  and  floods.  Slight  and  some 
times  imperceptible  causes  would  produce  an  access 
which  sometimes  lasted  with  little  respite  for  months. 
When  it  was  in  its  milder  moods  I  used  the  opportu 
nity  to  collect  material  and  prepare  ground  for  future 
work,  should  work  ever  become  practicable.  When  it 
was  at  its  worst  the  condition  was  not  enviable.  I  could 
neither  listen  to  reading  nor  engage  in  conversation, 
even  of  the  lightest.  Sleep  was  difficult  and  was  often 
banished  entirely  for  one  or  two  nights,  during  which 
the  brain  was  apt  to  be  in  a  state  of  abnormal  activ 
ity,  which  had  to  be  repressed  at  any  cost,  since 
thought  produced  the  intensest  torture.  The  effort 
required  to  keep  the  irritated  organ  quiet  was  so  fa 
tiguing  that  I  occasionally  rose  and  spent  hours  in  the 
open  air,  where  I  found  distraction  and  relief  in 
watching  the  policemen  and  the  tramps  on  the  malls 
of  Boston  Common,  at  the  risk  of  passing  for  a  tramp 
myself.  Towards  the  end  of  the  night  this  cerebral 
excitation  would  seem  to  tire  itself  out,  and  gave 
place  to  a  condition  of  weight  and  oppression  much 
easier  to  bear. 


APPENDIX  337 

Having  been  inclined  to  look  with  slight  esteem  on 
invalidism,  the  plight  in  which  I  found  myself  was 
mortifying  ;  but  I  may  fairly  say  that  I  never  called 
on  others  to  bear  the  burden  of  it,  and  always  kept 
up  a  show  of  equanimity  and  good  humor.  The  worst 
strain  on  these  was  when  the  Civil  War  broke  out  and 
I  was  doomed  to  sit  an  idle  looker  on. 

After  it  became  clear  that  literary  work  must  be 
indefinitely  suspended,  I  found  a  substitute  in  horticul 
ture  ;  and  am  confident  that  I  owe  it  in  good  measure 
to  the  kindly  influence  of  that  gracious  pursuit  that 
the  demon  in  the  brain  was  gradually  soothed  into 
comparative  quiet.  In  1861  I  was  able,  with  frequent 
interruptions,  to  take  up  my  work  again.  At  the  same 
time  there  was  such  amendment  as  regards  sight  that 
I  could  bear  the  sunlight  without  blinking,  and  read 
for  several  minutes  at  once  without  stopping  to  rest 
the  eyes,  though  my  chief  dependence  was  still  in 
those  of  others.  In  1865  "  The  Pioneers  "  was  fin 
ished,  and  the  capacity  of  work  both  of  brain  and  eye 
had  much  increased.  "  The  Jesuits  "  was  finished  in 
1867  ;  "  The  Discovery  of  the  Great  West,"  in  1869  ; 
"  The  Old  Regime,"  in  1874  ;  and  "  Frontenac,"  in 
1877.  "  Montcalm  and  Wolfe,"  which  involved  more 
labor,  was  not  ready  till  1884. 

While  engaged  on  these  books  I  made  many  jour 
neys  in  the  United  States  and  Canada  in  search  of 
material,  and  went  four  times  to  Europe  with  a  simi 
lar  object.  The  task  of  exploring  archives  and  col 
lecting  documents,  to  me  repulsive  at  the  best,  was, 
under  the  circumstances,  difficult,  and  would  have 


338  APPENDIX 

been  impossible  but  for  the  aid  of  competent  assistants 
working  under  my  direction. 

Taking  the  last  forty  years  as  a  whole,  the  capacity 
of  literary  work  which  during  that  time  has  fallen  to 
my  share  has,  I  am  confident,  been  considerably  less 
than  a  fourth  part  of  what  it  would  have  been  under 
normal  conditions.  Whether  the  historical  series  in 
hand  will  ever  be  finished  I  do  not  know,  but  I  shall 
finish  it  if  I  can.  Yours  faithfully, 

F.  PARKMAN. 

JAMAICA  PLAIN,  28  Oct.,  1886. 


APPENDIX  339 


POEM   BY   DR.   OLIVER  WENDELL   HOLMES 

Read  at  the  Special  Meeting  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical 
Society  in  Memory  of  Francis  Parkman,  November  21,  1893. 

He  rests  from  toil ;  the  portals  of  the  tomb 
Close  on  the  last  of  those  unwearying  hands 

That  wove  their  pictured  webs  in  History's  loom, 
Rich  with  the  memories  of  three  mighty  lands. 

One  wrought  the  record  of  the  Royal  Pair 
Who  saw  the  great  Discoverer's  sail  unfurled, 

Happy  his  more  than  regal  prize  to  share, 
The  spoils,  the  wonders  of  the  sunset  world. 

There,  too,  he  found  his  theme ;  upreared  anew, 
Our  eyes  beheld  the  vanished  Aztec  shrines, 

And  all  the  silver  splendors  of  Peru 

That  lured  the  conqueror  to  her  fatal  mines. 

No  less  remembered  he  who  told  the  tale 
Of  empire  wrested  from  the  strangling  sea ; 

Of  Leyden's  woe,  that  turned  his  readers  pale, 
The  price  of  unborn  freedom  yet  to  be ; 

Who  taught  the  New  World  what  the  Old  could  teach  ; 

Whose  silent  hero,  peerless  as  our  own, 
By  deeds  that  mocked  the  feeble  breath  of  speech 

Called  up  to  life  a  State  without  a  Throne. 

As  year  by  year  his  tapestry  unrolled, 

What  varied  wealth  its  growing  length  displayed ! 

What  long  processions  flamed  in  cloth  of  gold  ! 
What  stately  forms  their  flowing  robes  arrayed  ! 

Not  such  the  scenes  our  later  craftsman  drew ; 
Not  such  the  shapes  his  darker  pattern  held  ; 


£40  APPENDIX 

A  deeper  shadow  lent  its  sober  hue, 
A  sadder  tale  his  tragic  task  compelled. 

He  told  the  red  man's  story  ;  far  and  wide 

He  searched  the  unwritten  records  of  his  race  ; 

He  sat  a  listener  at  the  Sachem's  side, 

He  tracked  the  hunter  through  his  wildwood  chase. 

High  o'er  his  head  the  soaring  eagle  screamed  ; 

The  wolf's  long  howl  rang  nightly  ;  through  the  vale 
Tramped  the  lone  bear ;  the  panther's  eyeballs  gleamed ; 

The  bison's  gallop  thundered  on  the  gale. 

Soon  o'er  the  horizon  rose  the  cloud  of  strife,  — 
Two  proud,  strong  nations  battling  for  the  prize, 

Which  swarming  host  should  mould  a  nation's  life ; 
Which  royal  banner  flout  the  western  skies. 

Long  raged  the  conflict ;  on  the  crimson  sod 
Native  and  alien  joined  their  hosts  in  vain  ; 

The  lilies  withered  where  the  Lion  trod, 
Till  Peace  lay  panting  on  the  ravaged  plain. 

A  nobler  task  was  theirs  who  strove  to  win 

The  blood-stained  heathen  to  the  Christian  fold, 

To  free  from  Satan's  clutch  the  slaves  of  sin ; 
Their  labors,  too,  with  loving  grace  he  told. 

Halting  with  feeble  step,  or  bending  o'er 

The  sweet-breathed  roses  which  he  loved  so  well, 

While  through  long  years  his  burdening  cross  he  bore, 
From  those  firm  lips  no  coward  accents  fell. 

A  brave,  bright  memory !  his  the  stainless  shield 

No  shame  defaces  and  no  envy  mars ! 
When  our  far  future's  record  is  unsealed, 

His  name  will  shine  among  its  morning  stars. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


ABBOTSFORD, 114. 

Adams,  Henry,  letter  to  Parkman, 

255. 
Angler,  John,  school  of,  20,  21. 

Bancroft,  George,  letter  to  Park 
man,  258. 

Batiscan  River,  281. 

Bentley,  Richard,  226. 

Big  Crow,  Indian  chief,  175  et  seq. 

Bigelow,  Catherine  Scollay,  216. 
See  also  Parkman,  Mrs. 

Book  of  Roses,  236,  240. 

Bowdoin  Square,  No.  5,  25. 

Brimmer,  Martin,  autobiographical 
letter  to,  327-338. 

Brown-Se"quard,  Dr.,  232.  . 

Canada,  Parkman's  first  visit  to, 
42 ;  second  visit,  59 ;  friends  in, 
263-280. 

Carver,  Capt.  Jonathan,  nom  de 
plume  of  Parkman,  133,  134. 

Cary,  George  B.,  letter  from  Park 
man,  130. 

Casgrain,  Abbe",  267-280. 

Cats,  Parkman's  fondness  for,  322. 

Chatillon,  Henry,  150,  163. 

Chestnut  St.,  No.  50,  252,  317. 

Child,  F.  J.,  letters  to  Parkman, 
229,  230. 

Clark,  L.  Gaylord,  editor  of  Knick 
erbocker  Magazine,  133,  134,  202. 

Clermont-Tonnerre,  Comtesse  de, 
292. 

Convent,  Roman,  96-103. 

Coolidge,  Dr.  Algernon,  299. 

Coolidge,  J.  Templeman,  293,  300. 

Curtis,  G.  W.,  228. 

Dionne,  M.  N.  E.,  quoted,  266. 
Dwight,  Edmund,  letters  to  Park 
man,  208-211. 

Elliott,  Dr.  Samuel  M.,  193. 
Ellis,  Dr.  G.   E.,  autobiographical 
letter  to,  246. 


Farnham,  C.  H.,  281. 

Fenwick,  Rev.  John  E.  A.,  293,294. 

Fiske,  John,  3,  4,  226,  298,  324. 

Fort  William  Henry,  34. 

Fourierites,  122. 

Frontenac  and  New  France,  248. 

Garrison,  William  Lloyd,  220. 

Gibraltar,  69. 

Godkin,  E.  L.,  letter  to  Parkman, 

256. 
Gould,  Dr.  G.  M.,  247. 

Hale,   George  S.,  56  ;  letters  from 

Parkman,  126,  129,  135  ;  letters  to 

Parkman,  127,  128. 
Half  Century  of  Conflict,  248,  278, 

303. 

Hall,  Nathaniel,  20,  21. 
Hansen,  Mr.,   second  mate  of  the 

Nautilus,  64  et  seq. 
Harper  &  Brother,  223,  224. 
Hart,  Albert  Bushnell,  4. 
Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  poem  by, 

339. 

Indians,  160-192. 
Italy,  visit  to,  75-108. 

Jamaica  Pond,  234. 
James,  Henry,  295 ;  letter  to  Park 
man,  256. 

Japanese  lilies,  239. 
Jesuits  in  North  America,  248,  249. 

Keene,  N.  H.,  56. 

Knickerbocker  Magazine,  29,  134, 
201. 

La  Salle  and  the  Discovery  of  the 
Great  West,  248,  249. 

Lake  George,  32. 

Le  Moine,  Sir  James  M.,  265,  280. 

Lilies,  Parkman's  experiments  with, 
239,  240. 

Lodge,  Henry  Cabot,  letter  to  Park 
man,  259. 


344 


INDEX 


London,  110-113. 

Lowell,  J.  R.,  letter  to  Parkman, 
257. 

Malta,  73. 

Margalloway  River,  45-5T). 

Margry,  P.  A.,  288-290,  305,  306. 

Massachusetts  Historical  Society, 
250. 

Messina,  76. 

Middlesex  Fells,  school  and  play 
ground  for  Parkman,  21,  22,  '28. 

Mitchell,  Dr.  Weir,  letter  from 
Parkman,  290. 

Montcalm  and  Wolfe,  248,  249,  254, 
255. 

Montcalm's  letters,  293-295. 

Naples,  90. 

Norton,  C.  E.,  letters  to  Parkman, 

212-214  ;  letters  from  Parkman, 

218-221. 

Ogillallah  Indians,  160. 

Old  Regime,  248. 

Oregon   visited  by   Parkman,    148- 

159. 
Oregon  Trail,  The,  201-204,  213. 

Paris,  109,  231,  288. 

Parker,  Theodore,  90,  92,  93. 

Parkman,  Breck,  17. 

Parkman,  Caroline  (Mrs.  Cordner), 
letters  to  Parkman,  13-17,  145, 
146,  194-199. 

Parkman,  Rev.  Ebenezer,  12,  25 ; 
his  diary,  282-2H4,  286-288. 

Parkman,  Eliza  W.  8.,  19,  140,  233, 
252,  282-2H8,  303. 

Parkman,  Rev.  Francis,  17,  18,  25 ; 
letters  to  Parkman,  199,  201,  202, 
204. 

Parkman,  Mrs.  Francis,  mother  of 
Francis,  18,  19  ;  her  death,  288. 

Parkman,  Francis,  ancestry,  12 ; 
birth  and  boyhood,  20 ;  school,  20, 
25  ;  college,  27  ;  explorations,  32  ; 
Margalloway,  45 ;  Keene,  56 ;  voy 
age  to  Europe,  62  ;  Gibraltar,  69; 
Malta,  73 ;  Sicily,  75,  80,  ft  seq.  ; 
Naples,  90;  Rome,  93;  Roman 
convent,  97;  Florence,  105;  Mi 
lan,  106  ;  Paris,  109, 110  ;  London, 
110-113;  Scotland,  113-115;  Ab- 
botsford,  1 14  ;  Berkshire  County, 
119;  the  law  school,  125;  social 
pleasures,  129,  130;  The  Knicker 
bocker  Magazine,  29,  134;  Capt. 
Jonathan  Carver,  133,  134;  The 


Hanger's  Adventure,  132;  The 
Scalp  -  Hunter,  132;  travels  to 
Pennsylvania,  136,  137  ;  Detroit, 
137  ;  the  Oregon  trail,  148  ;  the 
start,  148  ;  emigrant  train,  151  ; 
buffalo  hunt,  154;  The  Whirlwind, 
162;  Fort  Laramie,  160;  the  rough 
journey,  168  ;  Indian  life,  181  ; 
journey  home,  191  ;  Dr.  Elliott's 
care,  193  ;  preparation  for  Pon- 
tiac,  205  ;  marriage,  216 ;  publica 
tion  of  Pontiac,  222 ;  life  at  Mil 
ton,  218;  Vassall  Morton,  227; 
death  of  sou,  229 ;  death  of  wife, 
229  ;  trip  to  Paris,  229  ;  Jamaica 
Pond,  234;  gardening,  235-240; 
hybridization  of  lilies,  239 ;  Book 
of  Roses,  240  ;  Civil  War,  243  ;  The 
Pioneers,  246  ;  The  Jesuits,  248  ; 
La  Salle,  248 ;  The  Old  Regime, 
248  ;  Frontenac,  248  ;  Montcalm 
and  Wolfe,  248 ;  A  Half  Century 
of  Conflict,  248;  50 "Chestnut 
Street,  252  ;  letters  of  praise,  255- 
261;  Canada,  263-281;  Quebec, 
265,  206  ;  Abbe  Casgrain,  267-280 ; 
camping  at  Batiscan  River,  281  ; 
trip  to  Paris,  288;  M.  Margry,  288- 
290  ;  Montcalm's  letters  to  Bour- 
lamaque,  293  -  295  ;  Wentworth 
mansion,  300 ;  death,  303;  his 
character,  304  el  seq.  ;  his  opin 
ions,  304  et  seq.  ;  woman  suffrage, 
309  ;  aristocrat,  312  ;  intimacies, 
316  ;  nonsense,  319;  love  of  cats, 
322. 

Parkman,  Francis,  letters  of:  to 
George  S.  Hale,  126,  129,  135;  to 
George  B.  Gary,  130  ;  to  his 
mother,  104,  136,  144  ;  to  E.  Geo. 
Squier,  215;  to  C.  E.  Norton,  218, 
219,  221 ;  to  Miss  Mary  Parkman, 
231-233;  to  Miss  Eliza  Park 
man,  233,  285,  286,  299,  301,  302  ; 
to  Mrs.  Sam.  Parkman,  238  ;  to 
Dr.  Weir  Mitchell,  296,  297  ;  to 
his  daughter  Katherine  (Mrs.  J. 
T.  Coolidpe),  322,  323  ;  to  Martin 
Brimmer,  245,  327-338. 

Parkman,  Mrs.,  wife  of  Francis,  217  ; 
her  death,  229. 

Parkman,  Grace,  323,  324. 

Parkman,  John  Eliot,  1!>,  203. 

Parkman,  Katherine  (Mrs.  J.  T. 
Coolidge).  300,  322-324. 

Parkman,  Mary  E.,  letters  to,  231- 
233. 

Parkman,  Samuel,  17,  25. 

Parkman,  William,  17. 


INDEX 


345 


Peabody,  Joseph,  128,  129. 
Phillips,  Sir  Thomas,  293. 
Pioneers  of  France  in  the  New 
,  The,  246, 


World, 


248. 


Pontiac,    Conspiracy    of,    prepara 
tions  for,  205  ;  published,  222. 

Rome,  93-104. 

Roosevelt,  Theodore,  letter  to  Park- 

man,  259,  260. 
Roses,  235-237. 
Russell,  G.  R.,225. 
Russell,  William,  teacher  of  Park- 

man,  26. 

St.  Botolph  Club,  307. 

St.  Paul's,  London,  112. 

Salem,  128,  129. 

Saturday  Club,  297. 

Scotland,  113-115. 

Shaw,  J.  Coolidge,  letter  to  Park- 

man,  141,  142. 
Shaw,  Quincy  A.,  143,  147-167,  190, 

191. 

Sicily,  75,  80-89. 
Slade,  Daniel  Den  i  son,  29. 


Smith,  Goldwin,  4. 

Smith,  William,  History  of  Canada, 
263. 

Snow,  Charles  A.  B.,  letter  to  Park- 
man,  61. 

Snow,  Jonathan,  of  the  barque  Nau 
tilus,  64  et  seq. 

Sparks,  Jared,  '222,  225. 

Squier,  E.  George,  214,  215. 

Stanstead,  Canada,  43. 

Switzerland,  108,  109. 

Thayer,  Gideon,  teacher  of  Park- 
man,  25. 
Ticonderoga,  40. 

Vassall  Morton,  227,  228. 

Wentworth  mansion,  300. 
Whirlwind,    The,    Ogillallah   chief, 

162-167. 

White,  Henry  Orne,  32. 
Williams,  Col.  Ephraim,  34,  119. 
Winsor,  Justin,  letter  to  Parkman, 

260  ;  on  M.  Margry,  289. 
Woman  suffrage,  309. 


Electrotyped  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Hmtghton  &  Co 
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